Prince of Swords
by StarCrystalMoon
Summary: UPDATED ChApTeR 20! Sakura's a tarot reader, Syaoran a.k.a. Wolf, burglar. Eriol-bowstreet runner, the charming Tomoyo and the very hated Clegg and annoying Petrina all of them still 'n there.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: First and probably all know that I don't own CCS, Clamp does. Second this is not really my own story, in true it's from a book "Prince of Swords" by Anne Stuart.

A/N: I'm just basing on Anne Stuart's story "Prince of Swords" to a CCS fanfic.

Prince of Swords

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She is an impoverished noblewoman... who lives by her wits as a Tarot reader for the nobility. He is

London's most notorious cat burglar. They met one dark, glittering night. Even Sakura Kinomoto could not foresee

the destiny that would sweep her into the adventure of her life with the proud, arrogant thief who has no intention of

being caught by man or woman. And he, Syaoran Li, has not reckoned on a passion that will turn a game of cat-

and-mouse into a matter of life and death. As the elusive aristocrat attempts the most daring coup of his checkered

career, he is undone by this elegant beauty who sees the tenderness behind his mocking facade, and who will

pursue him over rooftops and to the ends of the earth if she must...

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A/N: This is just the prologue, hope you like it.

I'll be depending on the reviews, for updating the chapters, or for even continuing with the story. It all depends if you liked it, be free in telling anything me anything want, by reviews or at: Thank you for taking your time for reading this, oh and PLEASE! Review (I really want to know what you think about it) even you don't like it tell me, or what ever you don't like or do like, I'll really Appreciate


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own CCS, CLAMP does.

A/N: I'm just basing on Anne Stuart's story "Prince of Swords" to a CCS fanfic.

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Prince of Swords

Chapter One

London, 1775

All of society knew that Lady Nakuru Akisuki had magnificent jewels. They were jewels fit for a courtesan, as Lady Akisuki had once been. Now, however, she was an ancient, with a worn-out appearance that suggests her long life with a soul even uglier than her aged face. She'd gone through three husbands, each one richer than the last, and amassed an impressive number of wealthy young men at her beck and call, and she decked herself in her battle trophies.

In truth, she deserved to lose those trophies. And Syaoran Li, Earl of Xian Lang, meant to see that she did.

Lady Akisuki's ball was a very good success; a crowd of people danced and gamed and ate with careless abandon. Several couples had already found their way to secluded bedrooms. Lady Akisuki was known to be particularly benevolent about such matters. What few people realized was that she liked to observe.

Shaoran knew far too much about Nakuru Akisuki; he scooped the heavy mass of emeralds from her dressing table, where she'd tossed them earlier. Arrogant old crones were always the best subjects for his particular attention; they never imagined someone would dare broach the sanctity of their bedroom unless specifically summoned.

Shaoran had broached the sanctity of many bedrooms, for any number of reasons. He had come to the wry conclusion that nowadays he derived far more pleasure from stealing than from sex.

He slipped the jewels into the soft velvet pouch he'd brought with him for that purpose, flattening them so they wouldn't present an unsightly bulge beneath his gray silk jacket. Five minutes later he was drinking claret a red wine and ogling Miss Connie cleavage. And the diamonds that danced above it.

"Are you going to come hear the fortune-teller, my lord?" she asked, pressing closer in the crowd. She smelled strongly of rose perfume and body heat. He smiled at her.

"There's a Gypsy here tonight? How enterprising of Lady Akisuki."

"Not precisely a Gypsy. A card reader, one who can tell the past, present, and future by a turn of the cards. How can you resist?"

"Quite easily, my darling," he said, having had occasion to sample Miss Connie's cleavage firsthand. "I know my past, my present is obvious, and I make it a policy never to think about the future. It's far too morbid." He detached his hand from hers gingerly. "You go ahead and see this Gypsy."

"I told you, it's not a Gypsy. It's a young Englishwoman Lady Akisuki has hired for the occasion. Not of our class, of course, but she should prove a little less eccentric and great deal less odorous than the usual."

"A cit fortune-teller? How singular," He wanted to leave. Now that he'd managed to fill his velvet pouch, the jewels weighed heavily against him, and he wanted to escape back to his tiny house on Desert View Street, where he could admire the huge, ugly jewels at his leisure and calculate how much money they would bring him. And whether he'd sink more of it into the rapidly decaying pile of stone known as Xiao Lang Abbey, or simply scatter it at the gaming tables.

But he didn't dare leave yet -- it would be too remarkable. At least a fortune-teller might manage to beguile him enough to bear the next two or three hours until he could escape.

Miss Connie caught his hand again. "Come with me, Syaoran, I may need you for moral comfort if she tells me something depressing."

"Trust me, my love," he murmured, allowing her to draw him through the crowds of people toward one of his hostess's gaming rooms. "Morality is one thing I'm in short supply of."

The room was even fuller of people than the ballroom. He could see Nakuru Akisuki, her stately bulk ensconced on a chaise, her hand upon the satin-breeched thigh of young Riu Makoto. The boy was barely out of leading strings twenty's if he was a day and he looked both terrified and flattered by Lady Akisuki's attention, Pity, Shaoran thought, turning away from them.

At first he couldn't see the clairvoyant through the crowds of people. Miss Connie lost her grip on his hand, for which he was devoutly grateful, and they were separated; 'cause Miss Connie was one of the plenty of noblewomen who chaise him for money or just sexual interest; and how could you resist a moment with whim one very handsome guy with a very nice athletic body with his 6-pack very well formed, his disordered brown hair but in a handsome way and those two unique brown eyes, that could melt you in one glare, making feel like melted chocolate with his heat of the like the color of his eyes. He moved through the crush with his usual feline grace, slyly observant beneath half-lowered eyelids.

It took him a moment to realize that the quietly dressed young woman who sat at the green baize table was, in fact, the fortune-teller. She was concentrating on the cards laid out in front of her, her head bowed, so his first impression was of a small, well-shaped head crowned with a neatly arranged cap of hair, light brown, ordinary enough. She was dressed in a sedate blue dress with a minimum of ornamentation, and the hands that held the pack of cards were devoid of even a plain silver ring. Pretty hands, though, he thought and willed her to look up at him.

If she felt his silent summons, she managed to ignore it, a fact that amused him. He moved to the edge of the room, behind her, where he could watch the back of her head and his follow guests' gullible reactions.

Her head lifted, and he could see her profile. Surprisingly delicate for a bourgeoisie, he thought. He moved slightly, hoping for a better glimpse, but she managed to elude him. The longer he was unable to get a proper view of her, the more determined he became.

Her voice was soft but surprisingly clear, and no cit's voice. "I see a man, Lady Akisuki," she murmured. "In your bedchamber."

Shaoran didn't move as the crow tittered. There was no reason why she should be referring to him, when there were far more obvious reasons for a man to be in Nakuru's bedchamber. The leering smile she cast at Makoto suggested that Lady Akisuki agreed.

"A lady doesn't admit to such things," Nakuru announced in a voice subtly less cultured than her fortune-teller's. Nakuru Akisuki had risen in the world during her long and varied career. Shaoran could guess that the fortune-teller, conversely, had fallen upon impecunious times.

He moved slightly, still frustrated by his inability to get a glimpse of her. "This man is not a friend or a suitor, my lady," the girl said quietly. "He is a thief."

Shaoran grew very still indeed. The buzz of conversation increased, and Lady Akisuki no longer seemed quite so sanguine.

"You're telling me I shall be robbed?" she demanded, releasing her grip on Makoto's thigh.

The young man took that moment to escape, wise child that he was. Shaoran stayed watching.

"I believe the robbery might already have occurred," the girl said.

"Nonsense!" Lady Akisuki hissed. "No one would dare..."

"Perhaps the Wolf has struck again," Freddie Lindbergh said with a silly laugh. "It's been a quite a time since he's been on the prowl."

"I do believe, Freddie," Shaoran said lazily, "that the Wolf has never been seen. How can you be sure it's a man?"

"Don't be daft," Freddie protested. "What else could it be? There's more than physical agility involved in these robberies. There's incredible daring and cunning as well. Don't expect me to believe a child could carry out such involved and outrageous schemes."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a young woman," Alistair said smoothly.

She turned then, as he knew she would, goaded by his subtle suggestion, and he was able to view her with lazy deliberation. He took his time doing so, lifting his quizzing glass with casual disdain.

She was barely past the first blush of youth, which relived him. She wasn't astonishingly beautiful, though he could find no fault with her small nose, her generous mouth, her high cheekbones, or her stubborn chin. If there was anything unusual about her face, it was her eyes. They were far too wise for a woman only a bit past twenty, and their clear, translucent emerald-green reminded him of very beautiful and big Emerald diamonds. Her hair was streaked with light, a light honey-brown color and what he could see of her form was trim, an attractive good condition and well shaped. But it was her eyes that held him. Dangerous eyes. Contemplating him with odd clarity.

He smiled at her. He had no faith whatsoever in fortune-telling, or in quiet young women being able to see past him indolent exterior. He knew perfectly well how such sharps worked --they took a combination of fact and conjecture and came up with a logical guess. The Wolf hadn't made an appearance for quite a while; he was due to strike. And the fortune-teller was betting her reputation that it would be tonight.

"Don't intimate the child, Xian Lang," Lady Akisuki chided him. "I'm hardly likely to have given her the run of her the run of the house. If you like, we can have her searched for any missing trinkets before we leave."

"Only if you allow me to do the searching" he drawled, but his eyes were caught with hers, and he could see the wariness, and the sudden anger there.

"This is tedious" Lady Akisuki announced. "I'm more interested in my love life. Come, Miss Jessamine let's concentrate on the rest of my reading. I've been told remarkable things about you I'd hate to think I was mistaken in hiring you for the evening."

If the old hag thought she could cow the mysterious Miss Jessamine, she was as deluded as she was about her irresistibility. The girl turned back to her with more dignity than Nakuru had ever possessed. "Certainly, your ladyship. If there is a robbery, it would be only a temporary inconvenience. A more lasting influence would involve…"

Shaoran stopped listening. He had no interest in the page of swords or the knight of cups, and he doubted the rest of the crowd did. He was interested only in Miss Jessamine, and if that were indeed her true name, then he was the Archbishop of Canterbury.

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A/N: I think I made the first chapter much longer than the prologue hope you liked it.

Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate them. They help me to be able to continue with the story

Thanks to you:

**dbzgtfan2004**Hope you like the first chapter. And don't forget **S&S!** FOREVER!

**pure-lilly**I'll really appreciate your supporting. Thank you and indeed it is a very good book.

R&R! Please! They mean a lot to me. Or you can contact me at StarCrystalMoon... (it's hotmail if I finish it, it won't appear)


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Like I'd said before I don't own CCS, CLAMP does.

And that I'm basing on Anne Stuart's book "Prince of Swords"

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**Chapter 2**

In truth, there was very little that had held Shaoran's interest in months. Even his marked fondness for women and the pleasures of the flesh had begun to pall. Scented skin and pleasant sigh were all well and good, but the women all seemed much the same. He'd vaguely considered despoiling an innocent, but even among the new batch of young ladies he could scarcely find a virgin, and virgins were highly over rat anyway. Gaming was tedious, either you won or lost and relying on the fall of the card seemed a rather silly thing to do.

The only thing that brought him the slightest bit of pleasure was stealing. He no longer needs the money, he had a dislike of amassing too many possessions, and he'd managed to pay for temporary repairs to Xian Lang Abbey.

Enough to keep it in one piece until his heir took over.

He expected it would be one of his prosy, distant cousins. The possibility that he might live long enough to marry and breed a son seemed both unpleasant and unlikely. At least he'd done his bit to keep the place going.

But Miss Jessamine entertained his interest far more than anyone or anything had since he could remember. He longed against the damask-covered wall, surveying her. What would she do if he suddenly dropped the velvet bag on the table in front of her, proclaimed his guilt, and demanded how she knew the truth?

She'd probably faint dead away at her inadvertent luck. She knew nothing, absolutely nothing, and the look that had passed between them had merely been one of mutual curiosity, tinged with animosity on her part. She looked at him and saw nothing more than an indolent society creature.

He'd felt no animosity at all, just the predatory instincts of a hunter. It had been a long time since he'd been intrigued by a woman he wasn't to let the delicious sensation disappear into the night with the mysterious Miss Jessamine.

By choosing tonight of all night for the Wolf to make a new appearance, he'd played right into her hands. He could just as easily sneak back upstairs and return those oversized, gaudy jewels to their place amid the spilled powder. That in itself was an entertaining challenge, and he was half tempted to do so, before he could consider the ramifications.

If Miss Jessamine were proven correct in her surmise, her reputation would be made. She would be the darling of the ton, invited to give readings at all the best parties. Sooner or later he would get her alone. And he intended to enjoy far more than a reading from her place, generous mouth. But were she to be proven the fake that she had to be, she would leave and he might never see her again. He wasn't going to let that happen.

Miss Jessamine wore no jewels, and he idly considered what she might look best in. Emerald topazes would bring out the color of her eyes, but they wouldn't be costly enough. Pearls, thick, creamy pearls, draped around her body. And nothing else.

"What does that look signify, Li?" Freddie had sidled up to him, a curious expression on his vague, pleasant face.

"Boredom, Freddie, nothing more. Are you ready to lose this quarter's allowance?"

"You never know, Li. I might possibly win this time," he replied, leading the way toward the gaming room.

Shaoran paused in the door, he wasn't quite certain why. He turned his head to glance back at the impeccably demure Miss Jessamine, only to find those magnificently strange but yet beautiful emerald eyes on him, sharp with doubt.

His smile was faint and infinitely challenging, and he sketched a formal little bow. She quickly turned away, pretending she hadn't been watching him.

But Shaoran's mood was sanguine when he joined Freddie at the tables, and he even allowed him to win a few hands before he took to fleecing him in earnest.

Shaoran Li, Earl of Xian Lang, son of one of the most powerful clans of China and one of the most respectable families of England and Scotland, could pinpoint the exact moment he decided to become a jewel thief. It had been a night of tedious sameness. He had lain alone, with nothing on, in the huge, high bed he'd recently shared with the energetic Lady Collins, and he'd spied the diamond necklace lying beneath the dressing table. And he'd decided to take it.

He'd always had an eye for jewelry, indeed, for most pretty things. His nanny had called him a magpie in his youth, when he'd been attracted to the glitter of fine jewels in his mother's jewel case.

But his mother had died when he was twelve, and the jewels had been locked away for the time when they would be presented to his older brother Ryan's wife. A younger son had no cause to be concerned with the Li family jewels, and he'd accepted their loss with his usual coolness.

They never made it to Ryan's wife. Ryan never had a wife. He'd gambled and drank his life into complete and utter ruin in three short years, and when they buried him, there was nothing left of the estate but an ancient title, a ruined manor house in Scotland, and an empty jewel case.

That jewel case had come to symbolize all that Shaoran lacked in his life. And when he'd left the damp, drafty hall of Xian Lang Abby and traveled to the wicked city that had been his brother's downfall, he brought the empty case to remind him how empty life was. As if he needed reminding.

Even from his vantage point on the bed he recognized the necklace. It belonged to Lord McKinney's horse-faced daughter, the one with the pursed lips and the haughty manner. When he and Anya Collins had first tumbled into his darkened bedroom, Shaoran had assumed, correctly, that they weren't the first to make use of its privacy, though he never would have suspected Miss McKinney would lift her skirts for anyone outside the marriage bed.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:Flashback:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He lay in bed, lazy, sated, and contemplated his alternatives. He could take the necklace and present it to the heiress, preferably in public, in the presence of her cold stick of a father and the stiff young lord ling who'd probably dared to lie between her legs.

Or he could simply pocket the piece. He had no money, he relied on the generosity of friends and the cachet of his empty title, but there was a limit to how far would take him, and he was already finding certain demands to be uncomfortably pressing. The necklace would go a way toward meeting those demands, and provide him with a few elegancies. And he had a soul that took a fond delight in the elegancies.

Not for one moment did he consider the third alternative as he lazily dressed once more. The proper thing would be to return the jewels to Miss McKinney privately, anonymously.

But Shaoran Li had never been interested in being proper. And he needed the money far more than she did.

He glanced back at the rumpled bed with a wry smile. Anya Collins had been her usual energetic self, one benefit of having a mistress whose husband was more interested in young boys than in his luscious wife. He wondered what she'd think if she realized she'd taken Miss McKinney place in bed.

Knowing Anya, it would probably amuse her. She was as unencumbered with morals as he was which made them a perfect match. If she knew of his sudden entry into the world of larceny, she would throw back her head and laugh her rich, deep laugh.

But he had no intention of telling her. He'd learned young not to trust the female of the species, and Anya, for all her cheerful amorality, was capable of a certain ruthless dedication to her own well-being. She was more than likely to throw him to the wolves if she decided it would benefit her.

The necklace was heavy with the weight of exquisitely cut diamonds and deep topazes. The topazes made Miss McKinney look sallow; he was doing her a favor relieving her of the piece.

The ballroom was still a veritable crush of people when he strolled in a short while later. Miss McKinney was nowhere to be seen, but since her swain and her father had disappeared as well, he assumed she'd gone home. He wondered idly who would be blamed for the loss of her jewels. Silly creatures like Miss McKinney weren't the type to accept their own carelessness she'd most likely turn off her maidservant in a rage.

Shaoran accepted a glass of his host's excellent claret and examined his soul for any remnants of guilt. He was blissfully free of such a failing. Anyone forced to wait on Miss McKinney would be better off seeking a new position.

There you are, Shaoran!" Anya sauntered up to him, her color high, and her mischievous eyes bright with lust. "You disappeared several hours ago, and I thought you might have left."

Since he'd disappeared with her, he knew perfectly well she had no such thought, but he smiled coolly. "I felt the need of air, Lady Collins," he murmured, taking her slender hand in his. He'd noticed the overlarge diamond early that night, but he'd been far more interested in what her hand had been doing than in how it had been adorned.

He met Anya's eyes with a faint smile, and his fingers surreptitiously caressed the hand that bore the diamond. "Next time," he murmured, "I'll invite you into the garden with me."

Her voice trilled with laughter. "You know I could never do that, Shaoran. I have my reputation to think of."

She had the reputation of an overeager bitch in heat, but he wasn't about to point that out to her. He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against the large, cold diamond.

A reasonable man would never have slipped if from her fingers. A good man would never have giving in to the original temptation, taken a careless bitch's discarded jewels, and used the proceeds to keep body and soul together. A good man would have berated himself for his lack of honor if he'd even succumbed to temptation.

Ah, but then, he'd never made the mistake of considering himself a good man, a reasonable man. The ring slipped from her thin fingers without her even noticing it as she whirled off in search of fresh worlds to conquer. With a faint smile he tucked it into his pocket, and his fate was sealed.

:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:End of Flashback:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He'd gotten away with it ever since.

The past two years had been entertaining ones. He had become more imaginative, rivaling the infamous Jack Walker with some of his daring robberies and escapes, and not for one moment had anyone connected the Wolf, as the broadsheets had styled him, to his lordship the Earl of Xian Lang.

And now this quiet little creature with the clear, beautiful, dangerous emerald eyes had looked at him and managed to stir his latent energies.

What had been behind that look? Contempt for an obviously frivolous creature such as he? His supernatural knowledge of despicable pastime? Love at first sight?

The last was almost as unlikely as the second possibility, more is the pity. The pseudonymous Miss Jessamine was obviously a young lady of breeding who'd fallen on hard times. His discerning eye had picked out numerous details in a matter of moments.

The material of her dress was very fine, but showed signs of wear. It hadn't been made for a woman with her curves, and strained across the top just slightly.

He leaned back in his chair and surveyed Freddie. He'd already lost the bulk of his quarterly allowance, and for some sentimental reason Shaoran always chose to leave him with enough to get by on.

Besides, he was far more interested in seeing exactly what Miss Jessamine was doing.

"That's all for now, Freddie. I'll leave you with your dignity intact." Shaoran rose with his usual indolent grace.

"Good of you" Freddie mumbled. "You're going after the Gypsy?"

"She hardly seemed like a Gypsy, did she? Much too pale, for one thing."

"All fortune-tellers are Gypsies" Freddie said wisely, "Wouldn't trifle with her if I were you. Her eyes were most peculiar. Gave me a decidedly eerie feeling."

"Ah, but you're not me, are you, Freddie? And I happen to like eerie feelings."

"Your funeral, old man" Freddie said morosely. And then he brightened. "If you meet your comeuppance, then you won't be around to clean out my allowance. I'll be rich."

"No, you won't, Freddie. Some Captain Sharp will do it for me, and they won't stop with your allowance. Be lucky I win your allowance and keep you from gambling too deeply."

"I'm all gratitude" Freddie said, turning back to his claret. "Watch out for the Gypsy. She'll ferret out all your secrets."

"I have no secrets, Freddie" Shaoran said gently.

"Everyone has secrets. And I suspect you have more than your share. Go find the Gypsy before she runs away, old man. But watch your back."

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A/N: FINALY! Finished with the 2nd Chapter!

And updated!

SORRY! For taking so long! I know I did, but my apologies, you know how it is with those evil teachers threatening with their so complicated and many homework!

Well living the creepy zone.

I hope you liked the chap. Oh, and PLEASE! Leave some REVIEWS! They really help; they help me know if people really like it and of course motivate me to continue. And never forget S&S 4ever!

I'll try not to take long in updating, but I don't promise you anything (with mean teachers and their homework kind of hard) and it'll also depend on reviews. So please R&R!

Thanks for those who review:

**Pure-lilly: **Thank You! I hope nothing ever happens to your comp, since I really hope your in every chap, well that's if I go far, anyways thanks for your support.

**Black Wolf Chic: **Thank you very much for reviewing! I appreciate it a lot. And helped me, thank you!

Please **R&R**!


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: I don't own CCS, its property of CLAMP.

And remember I'm making this Anne Stuart's story "Prince of Swords" into a CCS version.

A/N: SORRY! For taken so long. I know I did. But please forgive and I hope you enjoy it.

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**Chapter 3**

Sakura Kinomoto was adept at keeping her emotions from displaying themselves. That man had unnerved her, mind. She had any number of reasonable explanations for his effect on her senses.

For one thing, he'd caught her attention in the midst of a reading, a time when she was naturally more vulnerable. She'd been so lost in the cards that her customary defenses had abandoned her, leaving her easy prey to marauders.

She wasn't quite sure why she thought of him that way. She'd been surrounded by the silken, perfumed peacocks that composed some of the wealthiest of London society, and the man who'd stood behind her, boring into her back, but she'd managed to ignore them as she concentrated on the cards.

They were all staring at her, and she'd be foolish indeed if she let them interfere with her work.

Ah, but his eyes were different. When he finally spoke, giving her a reason to turn around, she'd been astonished by what she'd seen.

She'd imagined someone dark and dangerous, though she wasn't quite certain why. Instead, he seemed a fairly common garden-variety dilettante, from the toes of his jeweled, highheeled slippers to the top of his carefully curled wig. He held a lace handkerchief in one hand, no doubt properly scented, and he looked down at her as if she were the insect.

He immediately annoyed her. He was indolent, lazy, and far too cynical, and he looked at her as if he knew her to be a liar and an opportunist ready to cheat his friends from their hard-earned money. And instead of being outraged, he was amused by it all.

Except that none of them had earned their money, Sakura thought with a grimace. They'd inherited it, as she would have as well had her father not been a hopeless wastrel.

And though she might be there under slightly false pretenses, she meant no harm. Indeed, if she could supplement the tiny family income with society readings, then so be it. It might cleanse her soul a bit.

She was a fool to berate herself for her work. Helping the police to catch criminals was surely a noble cause, beneficial to society and a godsend to her family's well-being.

If only it hadn't involved working with someone like Clegg

She turned away again, concentrating once more on the cards, dismissing the fop as a worthless friable. But the man Lady Akisuki referred to as Xiao Lang wasn't easily dismissed. Long after he left the room, and she knew immediately when he had, his presence lingered in her mind. Not a clear vision of him, just a sense of amused, elegant disdain.

Disdain was nothing new to her there was no earthly reason she should be particularly incensed by his obvious contempt. If she had learned one thing in the few years since the Kinomoto family had fallen on such desperately hard times, it was that class and fortune were everything. And while the Kinomotos, formerly of Kinomoto Hall, Landsheer, Northumberland, still possessed the requisite breeding, their complete destitution made them an embarrassment to all and sundry. They were shunned by former acquaintances, dear friends, and distant relatives, all of them, doubtless, terrified that either the Kinomoto's ill fortune was contagious or that they might request a loan.

The result was that Mrs. Daidouji and her two daughters lived in lonely poverty near the silk weavers in Tomoeda, and even that straitened existence had been in jeopardy before Sakura had determined to save them. Before fate had been belatedly repentant enough to provide her with a way to use the doubtful gift that had haunted her since childhood. Her well-nurtured gift with a strange book with a wicked pack of fortune-telling cards. A magical book & cards, along with its two mystical guardians sealed in a deep slumber

She was having difficulty focusing on the cards in front of her. She usually tried to ration her energy - most of these shallow people were interested in three things: fortune, power, and sex. The young women wished to learn how they would go about marrying it, the young men wished to learn to acquire it, the older men wanted to learn how to keep it. It was simple enough to tell them what they wanted to know.

But that man had upset her' equilibrium. She was reading the cards too clearly now - she could see one young woman's death in childbed, another at the hands of her deranged husband. She could see the madness of syphilis hovering over a young man's future, and finally she could stand it no longer, pushing the cards away from her and closing her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I can do no more." Her hands tremble, slightly as she shuffled the pasteboard images back together, and from a seeming distance she heard grumbles of discontent. It was almost two in the morning, and she was exhausted. Most of these gilded creatures seemed eager to socialize all night long, but Jessamine had lost the knack for mindless frivolity. She needed quiet to soothe her aching head, and she needed her bed.

Lady Akisuki's guests had already dismissed her, returning to other amusements, when Sakura made her way down the wide marble staircase, clinging to the banister, the precious cards wrapped in velvet and tucked inside her reticule. The majordomo awaited her in the hallway, accompanied by two burly footmen, and she wondered if Lady Akisuki had

arranged for her to be escorted home. She was shortsighted, and it wasn't until she reached the

bottom step that she recognized the smug hostility in the manservant's face.

"Her ladyship's emeralds are missing," he announced in accusing tones.

"I'm not surprised," Jessamine replied with deceptive calm.

"No, I'd say you ain't. And you won't be surprised that her ladyship has insisted we search you before you get away with the jewels." He had a cruel, thin face with thick lips. Sakura didn't move.

"It wouldn't surprise me," she said. "But you aren't

going to touch me."

She'd already noticed that all of Lady Akisuki's servants were very large, healthy-looking men, something that filled her with unpleasant misgivings. The majordomo was not much above average height, but his shoulders were wide and hulking, and his hands were huge.

"And who's going to stop me in doing my duty, miss?" he said with a sneer.

"I will."

She must have been more frightened than she realized. She

hadn't even been aware of his approach.

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A/N: I hope you liked it.

I know I took like for ever to update. Hope you understand, that with all the homework I had I just could update soon. But I promise to do my best in updating sooner next time. If I do, you can bleim my evil teachers with their nasty and horrible homeworks! Not to mention A LOT!

Sorry about that.

Oh well. I'm so happy for updating -

Never forget S&S FOR EVER!


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, I obviously don't own CCS, but like many other I wish I did. CLAMP is the only and true owner of CCS. A/N: Remember I'm just basing on Anne Stuart's story "Prince of Swords" to a CCS fanfic.

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Prince of Swords Chapter Four

She must have been more frightened than she realized.

She hadn't even been aware of his approach. The man from the card room, Xian Lang, he of the elegant disdain, had come to her aid.

"Your lordship, this creature. . ." the majordomo began in a whine. ". . . hasn't left the card room all evening, Hawkins. There's no way she could filch her ladyship's jewels. And where do you suggest she's carrying them?"

"There are all sorts of places," Hawkins muttered, glaring at her.

The two footmen had already retreated.

"Hawkins, you shock me!" the man said, mocking.

"I had no idea such depravity existed."

Sakura allowed herself to look at him, almost wishing she didn't have to. Up close she could see his eyes a dark maroon like delish chocolate color. He had a narrow, slightly beaked nose, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth curved in a mocking smile, as if he found the world both tiresome and amusing. He looked like a man who knew far too much about depravity, and Jessamine would have told him so except that he was, for whatever his reasons, coming to her rescue. It would behoove her to be gracious, at least for the moment. Hawkins obviously knew he was defeated.

He moved away from the door, grudgingly to be sure.

"Very well, my lord. I'll tell her ladyship you judged it prudent not to interfere with the young lady."

"Tattler," the man said with a soft laugh. "And what about the money?"

"Money, sir?"

"Miss Jessamine was promised remuneration for her efforts tonight, was she not? And I imagine once you'd satisfied yourself that she hadn't taken Lady Akisuki's jewel, you were planning to give it to her. Weren't you?" She must have imagined the faint hint of steel beneath that elegant drawl. "I'm not satisfied. . ." Hawkins started to say, but something in the man's face must have stopped him, for he turned, picked up a small bag of coins, and tossed it at Sakura's feet.

She started to stoop down to pick it up, rejoicing in the very heavy chunk of coin as it had landed, but her cynical Galahad moved too quickly. He put his pale, hard, elegant hands on her forearm, holding her still.

"The bag must have slipped," Xian Lang said with great. Pleasantness.

"Fetch it, will you, Hawkins, and present it to the young lady." Sakura 'half expected the majordomo to refuse and she wanted that money in her hand quite desperately.

But the deceptively light grip on her arm kept her from moving. She could see him quite clearly now, and she realized he wasn't as old as she'd first thought. There was a hardness in his amber eyes, in his full mouth, that suggested a wealth of less than innocent experience." Hawkins crossed the room, sank down in front of her, and scooped up the sack of coins. She resisted the impulse to kick him while he was down, then accepted the agreeably heavy bag with a murmured thanks.

"Well done, Hawkins," the man said. "Now you can have one of the footmen call a sedan chair for the young lady while you and I go have a little discussion with your employer."

He'd released her dismissed her and it took Sakura a moment to realize she was alone in the vast hallway. She wanted desperately to take the time to see what the bag contained, but she didn't dare hesitate. She wasn't going home ensconced in the safety of a sedan chair.

For one thing, she had no intention of spending her hard-earned money on such frivolity. For another, sedan chairs weren't seen in the environs of Tomoeda, and she had too much sense to make herself conspicuous.

The night was cool, but she didn't bother searching for her wrap. She simply wanted to escape, both from the overzealous Hawkins and the disturbing presence of the mysteriously mocking Xian Lang. She had learned how to keep herself safe on the nighttime streets of London, and most of the underworld were far too aware of her connection with Josiah Clegg to dare anything.

Like a shadow, she slipped into the night, thankful that there were no eyes to watch her as she made her escape.

"Naughty boy!" Nakuru Akisuki batted him with her ivory fan, almost breaking the delicate sticks with the force of her little tap.

"Interfering with my servants! Why, I might almost think you were in collusion with that creature." Shaoran managed a' faint smile. "I've never seen the wench before in my life, Nakuru. But I have a weakness for helpless infants, and I disliked seeing Hawkins put his meaty hands on her."

"So instead she escapes with my jewels! That is too bad of you, Shaoran!"

"You know perfectly well she didn't steal your jewels, Nakuru. The Wolf did."

"There's no certainty. . ."

"Since when have you expected life to have any sort of certainty? Your choice is simple. You can let it be known that you were gulled by a slip of a girl who made up fortunes and stole your jewels, or . . ." He trailed off, and Nakuru jumped to the bait.

"Or?"

"Or you could revel in your status as the Wolf's newest victim. He hasn't been on the prowl in months clearly your jewels were enough to coax him out of retirement. I would take that as! compliment if I were you, Nakuru."

Lady Akisuki smiled a plump smile. "Very true." "And on top of that, you have discovered a true gem a fortune-teller who can truly predict the future. You'll be the toast of society. Everyone will want to hear about your adventures with the Wolf; everyone will want to know where you discovered Miss Jessamine."

"I don't seek to better my position in society - I am completely secure," Lady Akisuki said with complete disregard for reality and her own somewhat tarnished lineage.

"Still, you have a point, Syaoran. Miss Jessamine has a real gift, hasn't she? And those eyes of hers - quite deliciously unnerving. As if she could see through to one's inner soul." Shaoran frankly doubted that Nakuro Akisuki even possessed a soul, but he forced himself to take one plump, be ringed had in his, pressing it meaningfully.

"You are a very generous woman," he murmured without batting an eyelash. Nakuru smirked. "I never really liked those emeralds," she confided. Too gems residing next to his skin and managed to keep his expression composed.

"And Miss Jessamine?"

"Oh, you're absolutely right. I'll have her at my next soiree. It will all be very mysterious - I'll request all the guests wear black, there will be no gaming or music, and all will be very eerie and subdued."

"Wonderful," he said. "The rest of society will follow your lead."

"Of course."

"But where did you find such a fascinating creature?" he murmured with just the right amount of casual interest. "I've never seen cards like the ones she used. And it's rare to find an Englishwoman of common lineage so adept at the arcane arts."

"Common lineage?" Nakuru echoed with a rough laugh. "That's what you think, my boy. Her family. . . well, that's none of your business. Nor is it any of your concern where I found her. She's my little secret, and I intend to use her most wisely. "

"You might not have realized what a treasure you had if I hadn't pointed it out to you."

Alistair let none of his irritation show through. He never let anyone be privy to his emotions. He even did his absolute best to avoid recognizing them himself. Emotions were foolish, weak, and tiresome. He disliked them intensely.

But Lady Akisuki was a skilled reader of people.

"There's no use trying to cozen me. She'll remain a secret. If you have some particular interest in her, then you'll simply have to exercise patience, a trait you're not over familiar with. You'll see her soon enough."

Shaoran was not a man who believed in violence or in exerting himself unnecessarily. He simply stared at the smug, toad like face of Lady Akisuki and wished absently for a lightning bolt to strike her. But fate had always proven deaf to his desires.

He bowed low over her hand, brushing his lips against her diamond rings with true reverence. There was no chance in hell he could remove them - the flesh was swollen tightly over the gold bands. "Always the flirt, my lady," he said gently.

"I would do more than flirt, Shaoran," she said with an arch laugh.

"And break young Makoto's heart? I couldn't do it to him. He was looking for you in the gaming room." In actuality he was hiding from her in the gaming room, but Shaoran had no mercy when it came to saving his own hide. Nakuru was far more interested in a perfect 30-year old than a 23-year-old, for which Shaoran could only thank God. He watched as she hastened in search for her prey, and then cast a mocking glance at Hawkins.

"You see, Hawkins," he murmured. "Your conscience is clear. Not only did you do your best to obey your mistress's instructions, but you were saved the odious duty of hurting an innocent young lady."

"I rejoice, sir," Hawkins said in a sullen voice. Shaoran strolled past him. "I suppose you'll simply have to find; some other young woman to hurt, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," Hawkins said, and his eyes shone with chilly malice. "It shouldn't be too difficult, my lord."

"Ah, yes," Shaoran murmured, "but you might have to bed her as well, which wouldn't be half the fun."

"Not necessarily, sir. In London you can find anything for a price." He lifted his head, staring up at Shaoran with cool effrontery.

With another man Shaoran might have admired his substantial self-possession. But there was about Hawkins an air of evil so sour that it failed to entertain Xian Lang. "Very true," he said in his most gentle voice. "But if you go anywhere near Miss Jessamine again, I'll cut off your hands."

Hawkins's expression didn't change. "Yes, sir," he said politely.

She'd left, of course, and not in a sedan chair. He shouldn't have been surprised- Miss Jessamine was far too enterprising a creature to wait tamely while two aristocrats decided her future.

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A/N: Well there you have it, I finally finished chapter 4, I hope you liked it.

And I want to thanks to those who review I really appreciate them, they help me to go on with the story. My thanks to:

Black wolf chic 2 Kokari

Please leave me some reviews even if they are flames. I really need to know your opinion. You can also e-mail me at: and be friends.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: CLAMP still owns CCS. A/N: And "Prince of Swords" belongs to Anne Stuart, but this is just my version of it as a CCS fanfic. -/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/- Prince of Swords Chapter Five 

He supposed he should fear for her safety. The streets of London were scarcely safe for a decently bred young woman carrying a comfortable sum of money, particularly in the middle of an autumn night.

But Miss Jessamine of the fascinating eyes was far from an ordinary woman, and he had no doubt whatsoever that she'd be able to get herself home safely. For all he knew, she might live just across the square, a governess in one of the grand houses nearby.

She didn't look like a governess. She didn't look like a witch either, apart from those eyes.

But she'd known far too much about Lady Akisuki's emeralds. She hadn't seemed to connect him with their disappearance, but he was curious as to whether hers had simply been the kind of educated guess most fortune-tellers employed or whether she really was gifted.

It was his safety and livelihood at stake. The sixth Earl of Xian Land survived, no, thrived, by taking the jewels of the wealthy and distributing the proceeds to the poor, just like Robin Hood of old.

The difference was that he characterized the poor as himself, and the proceeds went nowhere but into his own increasingly deep pockets. And he really didn't give a damn whether Miss Jessamine could see into the future, into his past, could delve into his secrets. He simply wanted to delve beneath her skirts.

First, however, he had to find her.

It was just before dawn when Sakura finally reached the safety of her bed. She could hear her mother's noisy snores echoing through the tiny house, while her sister, Tomoyo, lay in the big bed she shared with Sakura, sleeping the sleep of the innocent.

Sakura stripped down to her chemise before giving in o temptation and opening the pouch. It was all worth it -the stupid self-absorption of the guests, the threat of search and heaven knew what else from that evil majordomo.

It was even worth the most unsettling part of the evening,

the presence of ,that man, whoever he might be. He of the amber eyes, the pale, hard hands, the faint air of mockery, and something else, something far more personal and an even greater threat than Hawkins's rough treatment.

There was enough to pay the butcher, the landlord, the greengrocer, and have quite a bit left over. Perhaps enough to hire a servant for the heavy work. And it might even run to a new dress for Tomoyo and Mrs. Daidouji.

"Where were you?"

Tomoyo was sitting up in bed, her pale black hair tumbling around her perfect shoulders, her violet eyes dazed with sleep. Sakura smiled at her affectionately, once, again wondering how fate could have put together such a gorgeous creature as her sister.

"Right here, dearest," she said, shoving the coins back into the' little pouch.

"I woke several hours ago and the bed was empty."

"I couldn't sleep, so I went for a cup of milk to help me," she said, the lies coming far too easily. She hated having to lie to Tomoyo and her mother, but she could see no other choice.

"Your side of the bed wasn't touched."

"I'm a neat sleeper," Sakura said smiling.

"You're a clever liar," Tomoyo murmured softly. "Won't you tell me what you're doing, Saku? You shouldn't have to bear the burden alone."

"Not that clever for a liar," Sakura said with a wry smile. "And no, I won't tell you, what I'm doing. There's no need for you to know. Trust me enough to know that I would never do anything wrong."

"I know that!" Tomoyo said hotly. "I worry about you, Saku. I should be doing my part. . . ."

"Your part is waiting for you. You're only nineteen. As soon as we get enough together to make a small entry into society, you'll be bound to attract the attention of some fabulously wealthy, devastatingly handsome, astonishingly kind

young man who'll marry you and make you deliriously happy.

And he'll be more than willing to take care of your indigent

sister and mother as well."

It was an old story, one she wasn't sure she had much faith anymore, but Tomoyo managed to produce a dutiful smile. "It would be nice, wouldn't it?" She sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

"It will be like heaven, Tomoyo," she said firmly, willing herself to believe it. She climbed into bed beside her sister, sinking down on the soft feather bed. .

"But, what about you, Saku? Will you change your mind after all? Shall we find you a handsome, rich young man as well?" Tomoyo murmured, drifting off toward sleep again.

Unbidden, the memory of Xian Lang came to her, he of the brown eyes and hard hands. She struggled for something to say, then realized it was unnecessary. Tomoyo had fallen asleep, untroubled by the cares of the world. Sakura lay awake, 'wide-eyed, as she thought about the events of the previous evening.

She didn't need the cards in front of her to do a reading. In truth, she was too bone-weary to even attempt such a thing, but in her worn-out state the pictures danced in her mind even as she tried to banish them.

Megumi had warned her that would happen. Megumi had warned her of the many ways she would have to pay the price for nurturing her gift, not the least of which was abandoning any hope for a happy future, a family, a man to love, or the children she wanted so dearly.

She had made her choice, years ago, and she would make do with Tomoyo's children. She would be the best sister, the best aunt, that had ever lived. She would know worlds that most people could seldom even begin to comprehend.

But she would be locked out of what most people took for granted. She'd been too young to make such a life-altering decision.

Scarcely 10 years old, trusting, gifted, and not wise enough to run when Megumi had given her the choice. And in the end they'd both known she'd really had no choice at all.

Who would have thought the comfortable nursemaid from Tomoeda would have more talents than the wildest Gypsy?

Who would have thought the dark arts were alive in one wicked

pack of cards that told too much?

And who would have thought that Sakura Kinomoto _of _Kinomoto

Hall would be inexorably drawn to those cards, with a gift for divination that put her mentor in the shade?

It was too late now. Megumi's cards were hers and Megumi's

Gift was hers as well, tenfold. But those cards originally belonged to the legendary and powerful Clow Reed, which created them, with his extraordinary power. And with them she could look at them and see the past, the future, and the present. She could see things she never wanted to glimpse, death and disaster. Though she could see joy as well, there were times when she wished

she could simply toss the well-worn pack of cards and return them in its book, where they belong and throw it into the fire.

But the cards wouldn't disappear and they would haunt her. As they did then. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, but the cards floated in her head, shifting, spilling outward. And every face resembled Xian Lang's.

She didn't want to attempt to understand. Why this man should haunt her sleep was a question too threatening to contemplate.

She squeezed her eyes more tightly, trying to think _of _the audacious burglar and the cards that had told her _of _his presence in Lady Akisuki's house.

But all she saw was Xian Lang.

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**A/N: **I'm very truly **SORRY! **For not updating soon. I had a really hard time and couldn't manage to update chap 5. Some of the reasons were that I completely lost my Microsoft Office, no Microsoft Word, Power Point, Excel, nothing! It was horrible! And with all my homework and school projects, you get picture.

Anyway I really hope you liked the chapter and I'll really appreciate if you live me some reviews, suggestions, comments, flames anything!

Thank you very much for the one's who reviewed! -

**Black Wolf Chics:** Thank you for kind reviews, gomen nasai (very sorry) for making you wait so long, but hope you keep reading and reviewing!

- - -

**Sparkly Faerie** Thank you to you too!

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**Kokari** Thanks for reviewing!

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**Syaoran Fan:** Thanks for the review, oh and I certainly know that his name can

be written differently like: Shaoran, Syaoran, and Xiao Lang. So you'll probably be seen me write it differently, in this story he's Syaoran/ Xiao Lang / Shaoran Li

the Sixth Earl of Xian Lang (by the way I think it's actually a place in China,

thought it fit good for Syaoran's name, jeje looks kinda of same as Xiao Lang, but their different)

Oh and **Syaoran Fan** be free in giving me reviews, I'm not mad for the one you gave me and won't be, but I'll feel upset if you don't review me and that goes for everyone that reads, I do really appreciate them.

The more reviews I get, the happier I'll be, and that means more chapters and faster, and that means happy reviewers -

Hope that you can all understand me, and don't forget S&S 4 EVER! -

PLEASE **REVIEW**! THE MORE REVIEWS I GET THE SOONER I'LL UPDATE I HOPE THAT AT LEAST I GET 5 REVIEWS.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N:I don't own CCS and that CLAMP is the only owner of it.

This is my version of Anne Stuart's story

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Prince of Sword

Chapter 6

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Eriol Hiragizawa was a thief-taker. One of Sir Tom Landers' men, he was uncommonly reliable, honorable, and compassionate despite his sternness. Eriol was had his own way of doing things, calmly and mysterious, if you ask, but very productive.

Sir Tom himself counted him among the best of all his men and the majority of his fellow runners considered him a very good soulmdeed.

Except for Josiah Clegg. If Eriol was Landers's right hand man, then Clegg was his left. Clegg's success at tracking down thieves and

pickpockets surpassed even Eriol's, and his thief-taker's share enabled him to live in surprising luxury.

If anyone had doubts about Clegg's scruples, or the number of thieves who died while trying to escape, then they kept those

concerns to themselves. After all, a thief was inevitably sentenced to hang. If Clegg dispatched him more promptly, then who was to complain?

Eriol Hiragizawa kept his eye on things as best he could, but his path seldom crossed Clegg's. Perhaps Sir John knew of his misgivings, or perhaps Clegg himself was wise enough to steer clear of the one man who distrusted him. All Eriol could do was watch from a distance when his own duties allowed him the time.

Right now his duties were particularly tasking. He was determined to find the latest scourge of lawful

harmony. The Wolf, that daring thief who insinuated himself into the very heights of society and sauntered off

with a fortune in jewels, had transformed from an irritation to an obsession for Eriol.

No one had the faintest idea who the criminal might be, and none of his elegant victims seemed particularly

eager to help a member of the lower classes bring the perpetrator to justice.

Silly, stupid, useless twits, Eriol thought with more annoyance than his phlegmatic temperament usually

allowed him.

They'd rather be robbed blind by one of their own than do anything that would brand them a traitor to their

class.

Eriol had very strong feelings about class, none of them particularly sanguine.

He'd grown up in the Yorkshire dales, and his broad accent proclaimed his yeoman status as much as his

large, untidy body, his dark bluish hair, his big workman's hands, and with two sapphire eyes guarded with

glasses.

He wasn't a bourgeois, and there was no way he would ever aspire to be one. He'd been put on

this earth to make the place a little bit safer for the innocents of the world, and he had accounted himself well pleased if he could make even a bit of a difference.

But things had changed recently. He was 25 years old, he'd been in the business of thief-taking for a good eight years, and there were times when he longed for the peace and straightforward hard work of his parents' farm near Robin Hood Bay.

The Wolf was a different matter. There was no question in Hiraguizawa's mind that he was a gentleman born to wealth and privilege. There was no way a lesser soul could get away with such outrageous crimes, could mingle with the aristocracy, and no one would even blink.

For the Wolf, Eriol had just a steely determination to bring him to justice. And in a way it intrigue him how he keeps deep in the shadows, committed such outrageous crimes, the Wolf, but for some reason it didn't sound quite right, more like a little wolf that managed to be under your own roof and snatch your shinny gems and not knowing until it's too late.

The thief-taker's share on such a felon was high indeed.

Hiragizawa could take that moiety, along with the rest of the money he'd husbanded so carefully over the years, and leave the wretched city he'd come to a mere decade earlier, filled with ambition and dreams.

He'd go back to Yorkshire, to his parents' farm perhaps, or buy a place of his own, and sooner or later wash the stink and horror of the city from his soul.

Of course, he wasn't the only thief-taker in London who planned on apprehending the Cat. Every Bow Street runner had just that goal in mind, including Josiah Clegg.

And Eriol Hiragizawa knew that if he were the decent man his parents brought him up to be, he would simply rejoice that the villain had been apprehended, never mind who took him.

But Eriol Hiragizawa was far from perfect, as well he knew. He was as troubled as the next man by lust, envy, and desire.

He just fought harder against those all-too-human sins. With a man like Josiah Clegg, Hiragizawa couldn't seem to rise above his base feelings.

It had little to do with Clegg's recent string of astonishing luck in apprehending a record number of felons. Instead, it seemed more connected to Hiragizawa's deep misgivings about Clegg's way of doing things.

There were times when Hiragizawa wondered whether Clegg wasn't worse than some of the villains he apprehended.

But Clegg was no more than a distraction, and Hiragizawa wasn't a man to be distracted easily. Not when Sir Tom himself had recently brought a most interesting piece of information to his attention.

The robbery at Lady Akisuki's was almost a duplicate of similar robberies perpetrated by the Wolf over the last two years.

Sometime during the evening someone had made himself free with his hostess's bedroom and jewelry.

As expected, the victim refused to divulge her guest list to Hiragizawa, offended that official suspicion might fall upon one of the upper levels of society.

"It had to have been one of the servants," the old harridan had insisted, eyeing him as if he

were some creature crawled up out of the gutter.

"Do you think I number thieves among my acquaintance?"

"I think you must, your ladyship. You say there were no strangers here last night," Hiragizawa had said politely.

"Insufferable," her ladyship had muttered, and Hiragizawa had little doubt she was referring to his studiedly polite manner and not the robbery.

If he weren't already certain it was the Wolf, he would have been more than happy to blame Lady Akisuki's majordomo.

The haughty creature who ushered him out of her ladyship's august presence was everything Hiragizawa despised, from his small, cruel eyes to his malicious tongue.

Eriol Hiragizawa had a real gift for summing up a person in just a glance, and Hawkins was a badone through and through.

"Her ladyship must have forgotten the Gypsy," Hawkins said as he opened the front door for Hiragizawa.

Eriol had little doubt the man would have showed him to the servants' entrance, but there were occasional gestures of respect that he insisted on. He was not about to use the 'servants' entrance like a dustman.

"The Gypsy?" Eriol murmured. An upper servant such as Hawkins would want a fair amount of blunt for his information, more than Eriol usually had available.

"There was a Gypsy here last night?"

For some reason Hawkins didn't seem more than casually interested in remuneration, and when Eriol's hand

didn't dip onward his pocket, he simply shrugged and continued.

" 'Course, she didn't call herself a Gypsy. Acted more like she thought she was a real lady, but if someone nabbed the sparklers, it must have been her."

Hawkins's knowledge of thieves' cant was even more interesting. Hiragizawa nodded encouragingly.

"And who was she?"

"Some old acquaintance of her ladyship's, I think, fallen on hard times."

"Then she could hardly be a Gypsy, could she? Not the son to mingle with the aristocracy."

"Lady Akisuki ain't exactly aristocratic, if you know what I mean," Hawkins said with a coarse laugh.

"She's risen high, she has, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still know where she came from." She's still the same Nakuru, a distant cousin of him who rose high through marriage and more than one. "What was the Gypsy doing here?"

"What else do Gypsies do? Tell fortunes and rob you blind" Hawkins said with a sneer.

Eriol reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, pulling out a sheaf of paper and a carbon pen.

"And what is the name and direction of this Gypsy?"

"What's it worth to you?"

"Absolutely nothing," Eriol said calmly. "It's your responsibility as a citizen and an employee of her ladyship's to see that justice is done. I'm certain I can rely on your sense of duty, can't I?"

"Not likely," Hawkins muttered, starting to turn away.

Eriol was not in the mood to be trifled with. He towered over the servant, and it was a simple matter to catch him by the scruff of, the neck and shove him up against the heavy oak door.

"I would appreciate your cooperation, Hawkins," he said smoothly.

Hawkins's protruding eyes bulged out farther. "Kinomoto" he gasped. "Miss Kinomoto Sakura. Called herself Miss Jessamine, but her ladyship confided in me, seeing as how I was supposed to make sure she arrived safely. She lives in Tomoeda, near the Five Diamonds pub."

Eriolreleased him, and Hawkins sagged against the door with a muffled curse.

"I appreciate your help, Hawkins," he said smoothly. "Give my thanks to her ladyship."

Tomoeda. It was the first break he'd had in more than a year of frustration. Many of the more adventurous thieves employed a moll to distract the victim while his pocket was picked. What better distraction than a lovely young Gypsy telling fortunes? '

And yet, as far as he knew, no pockets were picked, and the Cat always worked alone. Perhaps he'd changed his ways.

Still and all, Sakura Kinomoto was an odd name for a Gypsy.

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"Here's your share of the proceeds, my girl. "Sakura looked at the small pile of silver coins Josiah Clegg

pushed in her direction, doing her best to control her shiver of distaste both for the money itself and the man giving it to her.

It was early afternoon, and the Fives Diamonds was sparsely filled. No one paid any attention to the somberly dressed young woman and the Bow Street runner in the darkened comer.

"Did they have to hang him?" she asked, making no move to touch the coins.

Josiah Clegg laughed with that cheerful braying sound that set Sakura's teeth on edge.

"He ran away from his master, stole three silver tea spoons and an ell of watered silk. What else would they do with him?"

"He was Thirteen years old!"

"Old enough to know better," Clegg said with his usual lack of concern. He was a heartless man but far from stupid, and he must have sensed Sakura's distress.

"Now, now, Miss Kinomoto, there's no need for you to get all sentimental over the lad. He would have just done it again and again, and well you know it, and sooner or later some poor innocent would have gotten killed. You stopped that from happening. You should be proud of yourself, doing your duty to society."

She raised her eyes to look at Clegg. He was not unhandsome in a thick-lipped, swarthy fashion, and he fancied himself a bit of a lady's man.

He'd never attempted any liberties with her, presumably because he knew her gift was of more value to him than her rather ordinary physical attributes. Their unlikely partnership had stood him well, assisting in the rise hit his fortunes, and he wasn't about to endanger that.

"I don't like it," she said quietly.

"You came to me in the first place, miss," he reminded her.

"You were the one who wanted to help."

"I couldn't ignore what I saw in the cards," she said in a small voice. "That man. . . that creature murdered nine children. He had to be stopped."

"And so he was. With your help and mine. And you ended up with a generous share of the reward for capturing him, didn't you? You can't say that's come amiss."

"I didn't do it for the money."

"Of course not," Clegg said smoothly. "You're a lady fallen on hard times, but a lady nonetheless, and we,all know ladies do nothing for money. Still and all, your charitable work with the Bow Street runners has made your purse just a bit heavier, hasn't it? And doubtless that pleases your mother and pretty sister; What was her name. . . Tomoyo? Taking little thing. Cute a delectable little handful, I would think."

Sakura froze. The very thought of Clegg even knowing Tomoyo's name frightened her. It shouldn't have. Clegg made it his business' to know everything, and what eluded him he chased after until he discovered the answer.

She was afraid of the man. She had no proof of his evil, just an instinctive feeling that came to her at odd moments, through the cards, and through her dreams.

"You'll leave her alone," she said fiercely.

There was a glint of smug amusement in Clegg's dark face.

"Of course I will, Miss Kinomoto. I wouldn't want anything to upset you, now, would I? And if something happened to your sister, it might distress you so much, you'd have trouble concentrating on the cards. As long as you're so very helpful to me and to society, I'll make it my duty to be sure your sister

is safe and unmolested."

"And if I'm no longer so helpful?" She shouldn't have asked the question. Subtle threats were safer, more easily swallowed.

But she couldn't ignore a threat to Tomoyo.

Clegg smiled, and his gold tooth flashed in the afternoon light. "Why then, I'm afraid she might be fair game. You make my work easier, Miss Kinomoto. Without your help I'd have to werk a lot harder in finding and apprehending criminals, and couldn't be counted on to protect your little family. You'd be on your own."

At least he wasn't threatening to touch Tomoyo himself. She was their only hope - a safe, wealthy marriage would mean the end of their never-ceasing cycle of misfortune, but no one would take damaged goods, even someone wrapped in as exquisite a package as her sister, Tomoyo.

"I understand," she said in a dull voice.

"I thought you might," he said. "Take your money; Miss Kinomoto. "

She reached out and put the, worn silver coins in her reticule.

Her chest was tight and she felt as if she would suffocate if she didn't get away from this man into the dubiously clean air of the London streets, but when she started to push away from

the table, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

Too many men were getting in the habit of doing that, she 'thought absently, holding herself still for the moment. First Lady Akisuki's manservant with his thick hands, then the mysterious Li, who'd haunted her dreams and her waking hours as well. Clegg's grip was the final straw.

"Let go of me," she said in a deceptively pleasant voice with just the right amount of hauteur left from her more secure days.

His instinctive reaction was gratifying, if dangerous, as he released her wrist, then glared at her.

"There's a little problem that's been plaguing me, and I've decided to do something about it. I want you to do a reading about the Wolf."

"The Wolf?" she echoed, carefully keeping her face devoid of reaction. ".What is that?"

"Who is that, you might say," Clegg corrected her; leaning back in his chair. "It's a thief, that's what it is. A creature who sneaks into people's houses and robs them blind."

"A burglar?"

"But not your common garden-variety burglar. This one preys only on the very wealthy, stealing their jewels and fancy trinkets. And he's one of them. A bloody aristocrat, robbing his own kind, and he's been doing it for more than a year."

She clutched her reticule in her lap, concentrating all her tension into her unseen hands as she gazed at Clegg.

"Why haven't you asked me before now?"

"I didn't give a rat's ass, begging your pardon, miss, what the bloody ton does to one another. Besides, he'll be a sight trickier to catch, much less bring to justice. I prefer the easy cases."

"The thirteen-year-old apprentices?"

"Exactly." Clegg showed no remorse. "But Sir Tom has entrusted me with the case, and it's in my best interest to convince him I can handle it better than that country oaf."

"What country oaf?"

"Never you mind. It's none of your concern - it's the Wolf who should entertain your interest, and no one else. Where are your cards?"

"I didn't bring them."

"Why not?"

He'd made it clear that she couldn't tell him the truth: that she'd decided not to help him anymore.

The money Lady Akisuki had grudgingly given her was five times the amount Clegg paid her, and the work didn't stain her soul. She was promised to her ladyship. that afternoon as well, and all sorts of possibilities were opening up.

Her eyes met Clegg's small, dark ones.

"I haven't been sleeping well. The cards don't speak to me if I'm not well rested."

Clegg snorted, but there was no way he could refute her statement.

"Go home, then. Take a nap. And come back to me tomorrow at the same time - and bring your cards." He

grinned at her benignly. "Unless you'd rather have me call on you? This place might be a little rude for the likes of you."

"This place is fine," she said quietly, barely able to suppress her shudder of horror at the thought of her vague, aristocratic guardian aunt-mother coming face-to-face with Josiah Clegg.

Not that it was likely - Mrs. Daidouji enjoyed ill health and a fondness for ratafia. She kept to her bedroom most of the time, mourning her lost position in society.

She probably assumed her self-reliant niece under her Custodian was out shopping, and indeed, the basket

full of slightly wilted cabbage sat under the table at Sakura's feet.

She rose, and this time he let her escape. She could feel his eyes of her as she left the public house,

squinting as she stepped out into the autumn-damp streets of Tomoeda and wrapping her heavy shawl around her. At least Clegg, who knew everything, seemed unaware of her newfound sideline, or the fact that she had already enjoyed a vicarious encounter with his latest quarry.

For the time being she could balance her society readings against Clegg's demands, and the money would pile up faster than ever, enabling the Kinomotos to regain their place in society.

At least some of the Kinomotos. Tomoyo would be the toast of society even without a dowry, and if she were decently dressed she could attract any number of wealthy suitors. With Mrs. Daidouji as a benevolent, graceful chaperon, all was assured.

But not for Sakura. Unlike the other members of her family, she preferred to look at the truth squarely. Her reputation could survive her collussion with Clegg- once the escaped from his clutches, it was unlikely anyone else would even heat about it.

And she would survive one late-night party, reading cards and telling fortunes.

But a repeat would doom her. Lady Akisuki had already informed her that society was agog at her talents, and this afternoon's tea and reading promised to be a crush.

The guests had ignored her the other night, all but that mocking, mysterious creature who had come to her rescue so unexpectededly.

They would ignore her no more, and there would be no way she could show her face in society once Tomoyo was launched.

It was no matter. She had no great love for the city or for society. Tomoyo would simply need to find a husband wealthy enough to maintain several country estates, and his reclusive sister-cousin-in-law could retire to a graceful pattern of rural living.

Solitary rural living.

She made a moue of self-disgust. Her guardian was possessed of enough self-pity to supply the entire Kinomoto family, and Sakura had no intention of falling prey to such a failing.

She made her choice long before, calmly, rationally, and she would live with the consequences. Alone.

She'd lied to Clegg, something she didn't regret for one moment. She knew perfectly well who the Wolf was - his visit to Lady Akisuki the night before had haunted her dreams almost as much as the man who had rescued her. Taunted her.

She reached down to pat her reticule, and she could feel the solid bulk of the cards, seemingly warm to the touch. And dancing through her mind, the Prince of Swords, with the amber-golden eyes of a cat, but the form a wolf, staring back at her. The Sword card.

-

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**A/N: **Hi! I've finally updated! I hope you liked the chapter, and that you are enjoying the story, please let me know by reviewing, please review it helps me a lot so that I can update and lets me know what you think about the story. So please review even if they're flames, suggestions, help, anything will be fine with me -

An**d** for those who updated, my most sincere gratitude!

**black wolf chic 2: **Thank very much for your review! and i'll try to update soon enough .

**pure-lilly:** Thanks to you too! i'm glad that you are still reading the story. and i havent lost confidense in you

you've been with me from the start, and i appreciate it a lot. after all this is my very forst fanfic ever, even though it's my version of Anne Stuart's book 'prince of swords'. and i know it's kind of the same now, but it will be different in later chapters

and you too have been from with me from the start **black wolf chic 2 **thank you!

now for those of you that want me to update pliz review!

and i'm telling you if i don't recieve at least 5 review i won't be updating pretty soon. .

' sowie, but i'm desperate, so plz REVIEW!


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Hi! Well um…what can I tell you CLAMP still owns CCS --,

Oh well sighs

A/N: oh and I'm making Anne Stuarts book "Prince of Swords" in my version of ccs, I hope you like it!

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Prince of Sword

Chapter 7

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It was a compact house in Desert View Street, but more than ample for a man of Syaoran Li's elegant tastes.

He entertained in small numbers, usually other bachelors, merely for the sake of gaming. The public rooms were not overlarge but well appointed, the bedroom sybaritic and sufficient for his habits.

He was seldom called upon to offer hospitality - his family was dead, and few of his friends were in the habit of drinking so deeply that they couldn't find their way home at the end of an evening.

He cherished his solitude and his little house. He'd moved from cramped, drafty rooms near St. Paul's, and if his pied-a-terre held no resemblance to the lost splendor of the Xian Lang House, he didn't mind. The Xian Lang House had never been his - his brother had inherited it, along with everything else, and had died there, poisoned by drink and despair.

It now belonged to Syaoran that would have been the same as if nobody owned it, because for him it doesn't matter, he had even told himself he'd even forgotten its direction and its existence back in the land of Xian Lang, where he had also been born.

His current abode had cost the worth of Miss McKinney's jewels, plus the proceeds of a rather nice collection of yellow diamonds he'd liberated from the Earl of Gerran's extremely nasty wife.

The money had lasted a surprising amount of time, augmented by his habitual luck at the gaming tables, and it was boredom rather than necessity that had sent the Cat on the prowl again.

It was late afternoon of the following day, and he sat in front of a fire, staring into it thoughtfully, an unusual occurrence for him.

He'd been a moody child, and it had availed him nothing, not a father's attention nor a brother's time. Self-pity was an annoying waste, and he'd learned to eschew it, but this late autumn day he was melancholy, when he should have been elated at the stash of ugly stones secreted upstairs where no one would ever find them. And he knew exactly who to blame.

The mysterious Miss Jessamine, who'd vanished without a trace, leaving him with no alternative but to possess himself in patience, had had a most unsettling effect on his usual indo­lence.

She would reappear again, he made no doubt. He'd sent enough lures Akisuki's way to assure himself of that. But he'd never been a particularly patient man, and he wanted to see her eyes again, to discover whether they were really as eerily translucent as he remembered. And whether she could take her strange cards and tell his fortune as well.

"Personage to see you, my lord," his manservant announced in that tone of voice reserved for WeinTsang. Ram disapproved of Wein, as any right-thinking servant would, but he dutifully turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to Syaoran's business dealings. Syaoran had little doubt that Ram knew exactly what business he conducted with a sinister-look­ing little man like Wein, but he managed to hide his disapproval valiantly.

Indeed, it was often hard for Syaoran to suppress a shudder, more at the strange and disconcerting odor that often accom­panied his accomplice than the peculiar appearance. Wein had once been a chimney sweep, in his youth when he first arrived at the Li House in Xian Lang, China; where as soon as he started to work there like a chimney boy, was later the personal servant to Syaoran's father, the great Lord Xiang, and to Syaoran himself as a mere kid. Wein was a tall man with some few marks of the winters his face had passed through every year, and some strikes white hair from those years of life, impressive enough with quite all his natural strong teeth, gaudy taste in clothing, and an always seemed to keep a calm aura. He also knew how to dispense with stolen diamonds to their best advantage, and if Syaoran hadn't had the dubious fortune of catching Wein's hand in his pocket, and his true loyalty toward him even after his long ago departure of the Li House, their alliance might never had come about, and is first night's proceeds might still be sitting, untouched, in his old rooms.

"You work fast," Syaoran said lazily, careful not to breathe too deeply. "I didn't know you were so eager."

"I figured you were about due for a little exercise, your worship," Wein said. "But I'm not in that much of a hurry for the sparklers. Haven't made arrangements yet, so they can sit pretty for the time being."

"Not that I don't delight in your company, dear friend, but if you haven't come for the jewels, why are you here?" he asked, still giving him only half his attention.

"I came to warn you."

Syaoran lifted his eyes lazily.

"About what, pray tell?"

"The runners are after you."

"That's hardly a surprise. I haven't been concerned before. I see no reason to be concerned now."

"That's because Sir Tom hadn't put his best men on to you. Hiragizawa's bad enough - he looks like he's half asleep, but that man's as sharp as a needle. But it's Clegg you need to keep your eyes peeled for."

"Clegg?"

"Josiah Clegg. He's always been a bad one, and most of us do our best to steer clear of him. He makes more money informing on runaway apprentices than bothering with the more dangerous types."

"Then I shouldn't have to worry. Considering I'm one of the more dangerous types," Syaoran murmured.

"Word has it that he's got a little extra help. Sort of an unfair advantage, if you know what I mean."

"Explain yourself," Alistair suggested.

"He's got some woman to help him."

"I doubt I'd be likely to bare all my secrets to some creature allied to a Bow Street runner."

"You won't have to. She's part witch, they say. She uses dark powers to help Clegg, in return for money. Reads these funny-looking cards and then tells Clegg where to find things. Gives me the creeps, it does, just thinking about it."

Syaoran was startled enough. To move closer to Wein, an act he immediately regretted.

"Who is she?" he demanded. "What does she look like?"

"Ah, so now you're interested in what old Wein has to say," the man said smugly. "Don't know as many people have seen her. She keeps low, she does. Someone thought she was French. One of them Huguenots."

Syaoran had schooled himself to keep all expression from his face. The mesmerizing creature from the previous night had been no more French than he was.

"And this French woman proposes a danger to me with her cards and magic tricks? Somehow 1 doubt it."

"Eddie Mirmar didn't think he had nothing to worry about till Clegg came calling. Knew exactly where he'd buried his wife, and brother as well, and no one knew but Eddie."

Syaoran allowed himself a faint shudder. "I hardly think I'd be as interesting as a man who slaughters his family."

"That's where you're wrong, my Lord. The moiety on you is much higher."

"Moiety?"

"Thief-taker's share. You're worth a lot, your honor."

"How gratifying. Then why don't you turn me in?"

Wein's grin would have daunted a less hardy soul.

"I've been tempted, your worship. Fact of the matter is, though, people who inform to Clegg have a bad habit of disappearing before they can claim their share of the reward. But the true is there not much to it, as whether you acknowledge it or not I'm for ever at your services, of the Li Clan. And I reasons that you're worth more to me while you're actively pursuing your interests, so to speak."

"So to speak," Shaoran echoed, amused. "What about Clegg's young woman? Why does he allow her to live?"

"I imagine she'll outlive her usefulness as well. Pretty girl, from what I've heard. She has strange eyes."

Shaoran jerked. "I thought you said no one had seen her?"

"You must have misheard me, my Lord. I said not many have seen her. I happen to be one of the few."

"I could strangle you," Shaoran said musingly. "If I could bear to get that close to you. . ."

"Why are you so interested in her, my Lord?"

"Shouldn't I be interested in someone who poses a threat to my well-being?" he countered.

"But you don't give a damn about Clegg."

"True enough," Shaoran admitted. "I was ever a fanciful creature, Wein, as you well know. I'm far more interested in beautiful young witches with strange eyes than Bow Street runners. Where do I find this mysterious woman?"

"Normally I charge for such information. However, in your case. . ."

"In my case you'll tell me before I drag it out of you," he said in a pleasant voice.

"Where else would you find foreign or Frenchwomen but in Tomoeda? I followed her one night after she met with Clegg. Secretive little thing, she was. Crept in the back door like a servant, but the people who live in those houses can't afford servants. As matter of fact, maybe that's why I thought she was French. I, never heard her speak, but that's where all the émigrés live, so I just assumed she was one of them."

"Perhaps," Shaoran murmured. "And perhaps her dark tal­ents have absolutely nothing to do with me and a great deal to do with the fact that your friend Mr. Clegg has to pay for his pleasures."

"Maybe," Wein allowed. "But she didn't look like no piece of muslin. And Clegg wouldn't have to pay he's got half of Covent Garden terrified of him. Most doxies would be happy to lift their skirts for free if he left them alone. Besides, she didn't look like a doxy, despite them strange eyes. Dressed very neat and sober like." He squinted at Shaoran doubtfully. "What are you doing?"

Shaoran had, already stripped off his velvet dressing gown.

"Preparing for an evening stroll. Tomoeda sounds like a fascinating section of town. Care to join me, Wein?"

"Do I have a choice, my Lord?" he grumbled.

"Not much. Besides, I may need you to protect me from wandering Mohocks and the like."

Wein Tsang smirked. "Not likely. You're a man who can take care of himself. But I'll show you where the girl lives, if that's what you have in mind."

"That's what I have in mind, Wein," Syaoran said

gently. And he drained his brandy and headed for the door.

Syaoran had a strange passing fondness for London at night, even the rudest sections. The modest little building that Wein assured him contained the elusive Miss Jessamine was no different from any of the other small, cramped quarters that housed the majority of the vast city's French Protestant popu­lation and other foreigners. Because of darkness he couldn't tell what color was it, but it sort of look as if it was yellow or white.

He and Wein were not alone in their perusal of the building. Two other men were just as interested.

He had cat's eyes - he could see in the dark, and he was almost preternaturally observant. In his chosen line of work he had no choice but to be unnaturally watchful. One man stood on the far corner, blending in with the shadows, but Syaoran could discern an ample height, a large, loose-knit body, and sapphire eyes behind his glasses almost as observant as his own.

However, that watcher's eyes were focused on the building, and he seemed unaware that he was not alone that chill autumn night.

The other man walked slowly by, seemingly caught up in his own concerns, but Wein's swift hiss of indrawn breath disabused Syaoran of the notion that this might be a casual passerby.

"Clegg," Wein whispered. "What the hell is he doing around here?"

"I thought you said she worked with him?" Syaoran responded in a hushed voice.

"Not at night, I wouldn't think. Not so, her family might know. He must be keeping watch on her. Most likely he doesn't trust her. But then, Clegg doesn't trust anyone."

"The man shows some wisdom."

"He's smart as a whip, more is the pity," Wein mut­tered. "That's what makes him so dangerous. You watch out, your worship. Take a close look at the likes of him. He'll be your downfall if he can manage it."

"And what about the other man?"

"What other man?" Wein demanded.

Syaoran glanced back to the shadowy corner, but the large man had disappeared, fading back into the shadows.

"He's gone," he said abruptly.

"You're seeing things, my lord. Best concentrate on the danger at hand, and not start looking for ghosts in the shad­ows."

He looked back at the building. An occasional female figure passed by a dimly lit window, but he was unable to discern whether or not it was Miss Jessamine. Not that he had any real doubt. How many ladylike card readers with strange eyes could there be in London? The fact that she worked for his natural enemy only made the temptation more delightful. "I don't suppose you know her name, do you?"

"I can make it my business to find out. I'll have to be careful though - I don't want Clegg knowing I'm interested. I don't want Clegg to even remember my existence."

"Find out for me, Wein," he said, still intent on the

window. "And I'll double your share of last night's work."

"You're a good man, haven't I always said so?" Wein demanded of the night.

"An absolute paragon of virtues," Syaoran murmured, faintly amused, still staring at the small house.

"If you say so, old son. If you say so."

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"You're quite the talk of society, my dear," Lady Akisuki cooed from across a plate of tiny cakes. It was late afternoon the next day, and Sakura hadn't eaten since early that morn­ing, and the porridge had been thin and tasteless at that.

It had been months since she'd had a truly decent cup of tea served in fine bone china. She hadn't realized how very much she missed the small elegancies of life. She'd trained herself to concentrate on more important matters, such as life and death, yet there she was, seduced by an elegant cup of tea.

"Am I?" she murmured in polite response, managing not to devour the cake in one gulp.

"It appears that your readings were amazingly accurate. I've had all manner of notes and visits, with people inquiring about you and regaling me with tales of the veracity of your forecasts. Of course, some say you're a witch, but fortunately we no longer burn witches in England." Lady Akisuki's honk of laughter would have been unnerving, but Sakura didn't even blink.

"I have a gift," she said. "I have no idea where it comes from, but I assure you, I've made no pact with the devil." There was a pact with fate, she added to herself. A cold bargain that was no one's concern but her own. "I simply see things others don't."

"You have a gift for telling the future, but your taste in clothes is boring beyond comprehension." Lady Akisuki gave a theatrical shudder as she surveyed Sakura's attire. Sakura knew full well how she appeared, and she had no interest in changing. She was an average young woman with the normal requisite of curves, unremarkable features except for her dratted eyes, and plain light honey brown hair. Her wardrobe was limited by finance, and she still dressed in the plain day dresses of her youth. They'd been made by the finest seamstresses, of excellent doth, and even if they strained a bit over her lately acquired curves, they were serviceable enough.

"They suit me," she murmured, helping herself to another cake. It was her fourth, and she devoutly hoped Lady Akisuki wouldn't notice.

"You look so ordinary! A fortune-teller shouldn't look or­dinary," Lady Akisuki complained. "I'm going to arrange for my dressmaker to come, up with something suitable. No need to thank me, my dear. I'll simply subtract it from the money I'd pay you."

Sakura took a fifth cake, not bothering to argue. It was going to make her sick, but the alternative, shoving it in Lady Akisuki's smug face, was unacceptable no matter how tempting.

"But now my guests are waiting, and quite impatiently," her ladyship continued, rising. "If you can wipe the crumbs off your face, then we can join them and commence with the reading. You're prepared, aren't you?"

"Of course." But it was quite a lie. Sakura did far better on an empty stomach, but then, she had no intention of giving these flighty social butterflies her best work. Some of the things she saw in the cards were too disturbing for such people to handle.

-/-/-

He was there in the room. She must have known it - it explained the unnatural tightening in her stomach, the high pitch of her nerves. He stood apart from the various groups of people, watching her with a lazy intensity that made her wan't to turn back and slam the wide double door behind her.

It was impossible, of course. For one thing, the unpleasant majordomo kept hold of the door, and she would never be able to wrest it from him. For another, she wasn't a coward, and she had no intention of displaying her uneasiness to anyone, particularly to him.

She simply ignored him sitting down quietly at the side of the same green baize table she'd used before, pulling her vel­vet-wrapped pack of cards from her reticule and preparing to do her job.

At first it was quite simple. She could steer Miss Colleen in the direction of an eager young lord who would make her quite happy. She could reassure Lady Barnett that her daughter would make a fine match. Sonia Carlton would spend an enjoyable season on the Continent, where she would find the answer to her dreams, and elderly Miss Hamilton would redis­cover her missing locket.

Throughout the safe, happy futures she could feel him watching her, his slanted amber eyes sliding over her ordinary little body like his bold, elegant hands. She didn't like him. He upset her in ways far different than Josiah Clegg did.

Clegg she simply despised, for the venal, bullying, dangerous creature that he was.

The man who watched her was dangerous as well, in far different ways. He unnerved her, pulled her attention away from the cards and toward him, and she found herself fiddling; with a stray curl that had come loose from her tightly coiled mane of hair.

"My turn," a young woman said merrily, throwing herself into the vacated seat. "Tell me my fortune, O mysterious one!"

She was astonishingly fair, almost as beautiful as Tomoyo. Her eyes were bright with joy and good health and the knowledge that she was well loved.

Sakura took the cards in her hand slowly. "And you don't need to tell me whom I'll marry," the lady said. "I'm already married I want to know how many children I'll have."

"Besides the one you're carrying?" Jessamine asked softly,

flipping the cards.

"But I'm not," The woman stopped. "That is, I didn't know. . ."

Sakura looked up and smiled. "A healthy boy, Lady Branch, for you and your husband, in eight months' time."

The clamor that arose after mat pronouncement was deaf­ening, and Sakura cursed her flapping tongue. She should have kept her mouth shut, offered some vague, conventional hopes, and left it at that. Lady Branch would discover soon enough that she was pregnant - she didn't need Sakura to impart that information.

Her head was pounding, her stomach was knotted, and her hands were shaking from the strain of the afternoon. There were at least half a dozen more young women eager to hear their future, and the very thought made Sakura drop the cards in a clumsy pile.

She reached down to pick them up, but a hand covered hers. She already knew that hand too well.

"Miss Jessamine is exhausted," he said. "I'm sure the rest of you will excuse her." He already had his hand under her arm, helping her to her feet, and she was too tired and bemused to protest.

"Li, you are a bad man!" Lady Akisuki said. "I promised my guests that they would have their fortunes told."

"And so they shall. On some other occasion." He was lead­ing her from the room, and she had no choice but to go with him. She couldn't bring herself to look up at him; it was all she could do to regulate her uneven heartbeat.

A few moments later she found herself sitting in a small quiet salon. A glass of wine had appeared out of nowhere, and the door was closed against the intruders - except that the intruder she most dreaded was already there, leaning against that very door, watching her.

"Who are you, Miss Jessamine?" he asked in deceptively polite tones. At another time she might have admired his voice – it was deep, elegant, and undeniably soothing. Like the purr of a great cat.

She was slowly regaining her composure and her defenses.

"No one of any importance, sir."

"Just an ordinary witch, is that it?"

"I'm not a witch!" she shot back, still unnerved by the suggestion.

"No, of course you're not," he said, pushing away from the door and coming closer. He was much taller than she'd realized - his wiry grace minimized his height. He leaned down so that he was close, dangerously close, and his voice was soft and seductive. "You're Miss Sakura Kinomoto, formerly of Kinomoto Park. Aren't you?"

She looked up at him in absolute horror. "You're the one who's the witch," she said. And wondered how could he had possibly know that.

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A/N: Well I hope this makes up for the very long, long time I took to finally update. It's the longest chapter I've done! I am very sorry for keeping you waiting.**

But I think I umm…won't be able to be updating pretty soon, it's kind of complicated to explain (I hope you can understand me, (sorry and thank you for does who do), but it's not like as if I didn't want to, I really look up for those reviews, they really bring me confidence, and when I re-read them today they encoareged me to update, so Arigatou gozaimas! (I don't think I wrote that right o.o', anyway) THANK YOU! (much better -) For those who reviewed!

**ttt-katana**ThAnK yOu i'Am gLaD yOu LiKe tHe sToRy

**darkazureblossom** tHaNkS fOr rEvIeWiNg, yOu rEalLy HeLpEd mE GiViNg mE a PuSh v',

**MewMewPower** ArIgAtOu, (i rEalLy neEd tO FiNd iF It iS cOrReCt) x

**Niru: **ThAnK YoU, fOr tHe rEvIeW, i HoPe, tHaT yOuR FiRsT oNe iSn'T my FiRsT aNd lAsT oNe, tHeY rEalLy hElP sO kEeP rEvIeWiNg FoR alL tHoSe sToRyS yOu ReAd, yOu WilL rEaLly hElp tHe WrItTers. -

Oh aNd oF cOaRse iT WiLl aLsO bE aN E&T

**dragon-skies**GrAcIaS (thank you), foR yOuR rEvIeW, tHaNkS foR LeTtinG mE kNoW wHaT yOu tHinK of tHe StoRy

**Black Wolf Chic 2: **GrAcIaS, aRiGaToU, ThAnK yOu, fOr rEvIeWinG, YoU'vE BeEn WitH mE fRoM tHe BegInNinG, tHanK You!

Does anyone how to say THANK YOU in another language? Please tell me!

Now don't forget to review please!


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Sorry for not updating soon

I don't own CCS but neither do you, hah

This is my version of Anne Stuart's book "Prince of Swords"

Enjoy

* * *

"Prince of Swords" 

Chapter 9

* * *

Miss Sakura Kinomoto, late of Kinomoto Park was looking quite deliciously indignant. Syaoran was a man who lounged and reclined rather than stormed into a situation, so he simply sat on the damask chaise opposite her, stretched out his long legs, and bestowed a faint smile on her. 

She looked back at him stonily, clutching the glass of wine in one hand. He was rather taken with her hands. He'd had plenty of time to observe them as she shuffled the cards, and he'd found himself weaving the most absurdly erotic fantasies about them. Her fingers were long, graceful, and the very lack of even the plainest of silver rings fed his fantasies. She didn't have soft white hands with no other use than adornment. She had hands that when properly encouraged could drive a man to sweet oblivion.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded in an irritable voice.

"Like what?" he murmured lazily.

"Like a cat who's discovered a juicy mouse."

It took all his concentration not to show how startled he was. Clearly she had no idea what she'd said - his connection with a certain notorious feline seemed to have eluded her fortune-telling gifts. Or at least eluded the more conscious part of them. He had the suspicion that even though she hadn't realized it, it wouldn't be long before she knew quite well who and what he was.

"You are rather mouselike in that dull gray dress," he agreed lazily. "But quite quivering and delicious, for all that."

She started to rise, took one look at his face, and clearly thought better of it. A wise decision on her part. If she'd surged to her feet, he would have been required to rise also, and it would have put him in very close proximity to her. He would have had no choice but to touch her, and if he were to touch her, he had every intention of kissing her quite thoroughly. And

not stopping there.

"How did you find out my name?" she demanded.

"Quite easily. I simply asked the right person," he murmured.

"And why should you care?"

"Dear girl, you fascinate me," he said frankly. "I've never known a cross between a proper young English/Japanese girl and a Gypsy, Your talents are quite remarkable. Usually I find young virgins to be deadly dull, but in your case 'I find myself absolutely drawn to you."

"Draw back," she snapped, her color high. "I assure you my talents are paltry at best, and mostly consist of lies and lucky guesses. I'm scarcely the sort of creature to hold your interest. I'm no longer, of your class."

"I didn't say I was interested in marrying' you, child," he said.

She managed not to flush at the deliberate taunt.

"Then what do you want from me? And don't call me child! I'm no longer in the schoolroom, and you can't be that much older than I am."

"In years I'd surmise about a decade, or probably even less, but in more important matters I'm old in the ways of sin and the world, and you're still an infant. And I should think it would be quite clear what I want from you."

She sighed quite loudly, and began to untie the silk strings of her reticule.

"I can't promise that the cards will tell me much. I'm tired, and I don't do well with -"He leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, stopping her as she fumbled for her cards. His own hands were long, graceful, and strong, and they covered hers as they rested on her lap. Even beneath all those layers of clothing he could sense her skin, her warmth, and he knew his touch shocked her.

"I don't want you to tell me my fortune, Sakura," he'said softly, "and I have no interest in making use of your dubious talents."

She tried to pull her hands from under his, but he simply pressed harder, the strength and the heat of his hand against her legs.

"Then what do you want?" she demanded;

She really didn't know. Itastonished and delighted him.

How a woman with her subtle, delicious charms could be so oblivious was a wonder.

"I want your body," he purred.

She blinked those magnificent eyes at him. "What for?"

He was becoming less charmed and more irritated.

"I want to seduce you, my pet," he said in a cooler voice that she couldn't fail to understand.

Her reaction was gratifying. She didn't turn pale, or flush, or giggle like a simpleton. She simply stared at him.

"Oh," she said flatly. "You're a rake."

"I'm not denying it. What made you come to that particular conclusion?"

"Rakes like to seduce every female they come across, do they not? My mother warned me that men like you existed, but our fortunes changed before I ever actually met one."

"Curse all mothers," he muttered. "And I don't seduce every female I come across. Only the ones who interest me."

She looked at him with a calculating eye, clearly unmoved.

"Do you live in London, Mr. . . . ? I'm afraid I don't know your name - we've never been properly introduced. You can't seduce me if we haven't been introduced."

"That's what you think," he said half to himself. "Not actually I'm not technically a mister. I'm the sixth Earl of Xian Lang. You may call me Lord Xian Lang, but I'd prefer you call me Syaoran."

"A title," she said approvingly. "Even better. Does that title come with a convenient fortune?"

"I said I wanted to seduce you, not buy you," he drawled.

"Cooperation is so much more enjoyable than commerce."

"I wasn't thinking of me," she said sharply.

"Oh, you've become an abbess?" he inquired politely.

The color flared in her pale cheeks then, most gratifyingly.

The longer he resisted touching her, the more powerful the need became. Her ridiculous arguments should have made him lose interest. Instead, they merely increased his determination... "Matchmaker," she said in a severe voice. "You aren't married, are you?"

"Fortunately, no."

She positively beamed at him. "Excellent. And you're a very handsome man. I'm certain you'd want a beautiful wife as well- one who could give you equally lovely children - a good, talented, docile girl who -"

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

"My sister."

"You want me to seduce your sister?" he echoed, momentarily diverted.

"Of course not. I want you to marry her."

"Why in God's name would I want to do that?"

"All men need heirs. And I told you, my sister is without question the most beautiful girl in London. Men only have to see her to fall in love with her."

He surveyed her calmly.

"Then why hasn't someone married her already?"

"Because I don't let anyone see her. I'm saving her. Our unfortunate reversal of fortune has kept us in retirement, but as soon as I . . . as we regain our proper circumstances, she'll make her bow in society, and I have no doubt whatsoever that a splendid marriage will ensue."

"You _are _an abbess," he said dryly. "I'm sorry, child, but I have no intention of marrying, now or in the future. I prefer my pleasures unshackled. Besides, I have no interest in your sister, no matter how lovely and docile and talented she is. Those aren't the qualities that interest me."

"They're not?" she said, clearly surprised.

"I'm far more interested in women who are adventuresome, imaginative, and not in the ordinary way. I prefer women with strange eyes to those of classic perfection. In fact, dear girl, I want to bed you, not marry your sister."

She blinked at his plain speaking, but still managed to keep her composure. "You have very uncommon tastes, my lord."

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I do."

She really did have the most extraordinary eyes. They were emerald green, translucent, witch's eyes, and they stared at him with sudden dismay, as if she finally realized the danger she was in.

She scrambled out of her chair, clutching her reticule, backing away from him and knocking the chair over as she went.

He didn't move from his spot on the chaise, merely reclined there, watching her. The poor innocent thought she could escape - she didn't know how quickly he could move.

"This has been most entertaining, my lord," she said, and he could hear the breathless anxiety in her voice.

"But I'm afraid I need to be getting home."

"To that incomparable sister of yours? This time you'd best take a sedan chair. Tomoeda is a fair distance from Mayfair."

"You know where I live?" she demanded, aghast.

"It's a very drab little house."

"It's only temporary." He'd lulled her into a false security. If she had any sense at all, she'd escape quickly, but she was lingering, still several feet from the door, and he had more than enough time to reach her.

"You don't want to go back there tonight, do you? Wouldn't you rather eat roast quail, and drink fine claret? Wouldn't you rather spend the night in my bed?"

"Absolutely not," she said sternly. "And I don't believe you have the faintest interest in taking me there."

She made the mistake of turning her back as she crossed to the doorway. By the time she put her hand on the knob, he was behind her, looming over her, moving with total silence as his hand covered hers.

He turned her around swiftly, and she uttered a little shriek, more of surprise than real fear, and she looked up at him with disapproving eyes.

"You think not, Sakura? You underestimate your charms."

He used his body to press her up against the door, exerting just enough strength to pin her there without hurting her. He cupped her face with his hands, and her skin was smooth and soft beneath his fingers. Her mouth trembled as she stared up at him in utter fierceness, and her eyes dared him.

He never could resist a dare. He set his mouth against hers, tasting her lips, the wine that she'd drunk, the fear she tried so hard to hide. She made no effort to fight him or ,resist him, she simply held very,still, like a trapped animal, like a tiny, cowering mousetrapped by a big black cat.

The notion amused him, and he tipped her head back, moving his lips across hers lightly, dampening them. She seemed to be having trouble breathing, and he decided to make things even more difficult. He put just the right amount of pressure on her jaw, and she opened her mouth to him.

The sound she made when he used his tongue was soft, distressed, and longing. For a moment she pushed against him, but when she realized that nothing short of an earthquake, could dislodge him, she started to drop her arms in defeat.

He didn't want her defeat. He caught her arms and pulled them around his neck, and she shuddered. But her body pressed up against him, and he could feel the sweet swell of her breasts against his chest, and the stirring of a need that mirrored his own.

She wouldn't know much about that kind of need, and she would doubtless deny it if she could. He wanted to take her far enough along that she couldn't pretend, and he moved one hand between their bodies, up her plain, stiffened bodice to the curve of her breast, claiming jt with his long fingers.

"Syaoran!"

* * *

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

Cliffy!

So what do think of it?

What are going to do about it?

I'm outrageous. Yeah I know.

Ok now, I would really like to appreciate and give my thanks for those who reviewed!

**Alpha2Omega**: ThAnK YoU vErY MuCh fOr YoUr rEvIeW, i HoPe yOu LiKeD ThIs ChApPy!

**Black Wolf Chic 2:** Hi! Of CoUrSe I'll mEnTioN yOu, YoU rEviEwed, and BeSidEs i CoNsIdeR yoU mY

FriEnd. friends? GrAcIaS! for ReViEwiNg

**pure-lilly**hi! I kNeW u dIDn'T aBaNdaNed mE. AriGatOu! for u reVieW (by the way, what's the 'story alert'?)

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** i don't know about you guys, but i think i'm getting confuse here about the ages

so i'll write them down here, for anyone interested

Sakura: 19

Syaoran: 23

Tomoyo: 21

Eriol: 25

what do you think? or should i change them? (i noticed that girls married very young, and couldbe wondering why they aren't married)

another thing i want to make clear is that

Sakura's biological mother is Nadeshiko, same story of ccs, died when sakura was very young. But instead of Sonomi being her cousin, she's her older sister. And Tomoyo is Sonomi's biological daughter.

i won't go into details, for now. but Sonomi is sakura's guardian, like a mother who took care of her, with the help of a their nurse Megumi. anyway that's why sakura refers to her as her mom,ok? got it, if not, sorry can't tell you much.

but you'll find out, along the story,

Right now i'm in finals, but i'll do my best in updating


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Yup it's me again still alive and finally updating!

Sorry for my delay especially for those who waited, I hope you like it!

Arrgg…I have to do that boring disclaimer thingy before I start so let's just get it over it,

as if you didn't know that I don't own CCS and well that this is my version of Anne Stuart's story "Prince of Swords".

So there, now I can begin!

…

* * *

"Syaoran!"

Lady Akisuki's less than genteel bellow was unmistakable echoing through the great house, and Syaoran's instant thought was murderous indeed. He didn't want to stop. He wanted her to kiss him back. He wanted to unlash that passion deep inside her.

He wanted to unlace the back of her decent, boring dress, and bare her breasts for his eyes, his hands, and his mouth.

"Syaoran!" Nakuru bellowed again, once more displaying the manners of her youth. She was getting closer.

With a sigh of regret Syaoran released Sakura's mouth, her breast, her body, stepping back, surveying her, she was leaning against the door, breathless, panting slightly, her eyes shut.

Her mouth was damp and reddened from his passionate kiss, her face was pale, and she looked as if her safe little world had just tipped over. He could only hope it had.

The sight was so delicious, he almost reached for her again, but the doorknob turned and Sakura was thrust toward him abruptly as Lady Akisuki barged into the room.

He caught her arms, careful to keep her face away from Nakuru's until she recovered some of her wonderfully disordered senses.

She glanced up at him, and there was such confusion, pain, and longing in her mysterious eyes that he felt the first pang of guilt he'd experienced in years. He reached out an involuntary hand to touch her, reassure her, but she had already swept around, away from him, brushing past Lady Akisuki with no more than a murmured farewell.

Nakuru surveyed him with grim humor.

"You've been a naughty boy again, Syaoran," she chided him, her arch tones making his skin crawl. "Don't you know better than to interfere with the bourgeoisie?"

"I thought she was a Gipsy," he drawled.

"You know perfectly well she's not. She's a decent, unimaginative English maiden whose father was Lord of the best association of archeologists in Egypt and of course a grand master from Japan."

"So I gather."

Nakuru blinked "You mean she told you?"

"Of coarse not. I have my own sources of information, Nakuru, as do you. I'm perfectly aware of Miss Kinomoto's background."

"Then you should know better than to try your wiles with her."

"I know better, Nakuru. I just don't choose to act on that knowledge. She's a bit too delectable to pass by. You know I could never resist a challenge."

"Silly boy. Experience is always preferable to awkwardness." She batted her creped eyelids in a grotesque attempt at flirtation.

Syaoran was not in the mood for this. Now that he knew who Sakura was, he no longer relied on Nakuro Akisuki for his connection, but common sense told him that she would be a dangerous enemy to make.

"Come now, Nakuru, if you had to choose between an aging rouge like Walkerfall and a young, untried buck such as Rolfe, it's more than clear which one you'd choose. You enjoy a challenge just as much as I do."

"I suppose I do," she said with a sigh. "Still and all, Shaoran, you've always managed to elude me."

It makes me far more interesting," he murmured, moving toward the door. "Forgive me if I take my leave of you, my lady."

Nakuru sank heavily into a chair "Go away, go away then," she said crankily and waved her hand toward him "But firs tell me, what do you intend to do about the girl?"

"Seduce and abandon her, of course. What else would you expect?"

"You're an evil soul, Syaoran. I've always liked that about you. You remind me of me."

Syaoran managed a faint smile that was just this side of sneer. "You flatter me, Nakuru. No one can even, approach you for sheer malice." And her laugh echoed in his ears as he made his escape.

* * *

:

A weaker, more vulnerable soul might be close to tears, Sakura thought as she hurried through the darkening streets of late afternoon. Another female, less certain of her lot in life, might feel shaken, overset, disturbed. But not Sakura.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; Flashback ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

"You have a rare gift," Megumi told her years ago.

"You see the cards more clearly than anyone I have ever known. But there is a price to be paid.

To keep that gift you need to remain pure. Untouched, unsoiled by the hands of men.

You can never marry, never, never mate with a man. If you do, your talent will vanish and the cards will be no more than plain ordinary cards with pretty pictures.

Let a man touch you and kiss you, let him lie between your legs, and all of what I would have taught you will be for nothing.

You must choose, love, and you must choose wisely, for there will be no going back."

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; End of Flashback ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

And Sakura Kinomoto, who at the tender age of ten considered the male of the species nothing more than and annoyance, and the act of procreation utterly disgusting, agreed without hesitation.

She was doubly glad of her choice now, she told herself wrapping her shawl around her body even more tightly, and reaching up a surreptitious hand to scrub at her mouth.

Never had another person touched her in such a way.

His mouth had been hot, hard, damp, his tongue an intrusion that made her shedder in horrified memory.

His hands were hard as well, with narrow, strong fingers that had held her prisoner. She would have bruises, she was certain of it. He was a monster a depraved, cowardly villain…

She realized absently that her fingertips were stroking her mouth. She pulled her hand away with a horrified gasp, ducking her head and moving onward down the crowded streets.

In truth, now that she had time to think about it, it hadn't been that awful. She could see now why most women wouldn't mind such importunities. Why, some of them might even welcome sush a languorous assault.

But not Sakura. She had made her decision, and if she's to be alone then alone she'll be. And Lord Li would have to find himself someone else to play his cat-and-mouse games with.

The phrase rang uncomfortably in her head, and she could see his piercing auburn eyes clear in her mind.

If she had any sense at all, she would do a reading when she got home.

She tried to keep the cards away from Tomoyo and her mother, they worried too much, and Mrs. Daidouji of Kinomoto had been jealous of Megumi's influence, even after Megumi had died of old age.

She could lock herself in the bedroom and lay them out. Except that she already knew what she would discover.

The cards danced in her head quite clearly, and she shook the memory away. She didn't want answers to her unspoken question.

She didn't wand Syaoran Li in her mind, in her life, teasing her, touching her.

What dark secrets lay beyond hid indolent exterior was none of her concern. And so she would tell Clegg if he made any more demands.

Once again knowledge was coming uncomfortably close, knowledge that angered and frightened her.

She would keep her distance from Lady Akisuki. The heavy purses she offered were no match for the harsh behavior of her hulking servants.

Or the demoralizing effect of the Earl of Xian Lang when he put his mouth on hers.

* * *

:;

The wolf was back on the prowl again.

It was a cool, dark night, a few short weeks after his last wicked visitation, but Syaoran was restless, and he had no illusions as to what caused his current frustrated state.

Miss Kinomoto had proven to herself to be annoyingly reclusive.

Wein had managed to get a tremendous amount of sum for Nakuru's ugly gems, more than enough to keep Syaoran in reasonable luxury, but he was bored.

If he couldn't have Sakura of the translucent eyes and the most delicious mouth he had tasted before, then he'd simply have to distract himself with the pleasures of a burglar as the Wolf.

As it was, he was more interested in Sakura than he should have been.

A careful man would have been determined to keep his distance from those too observant eyes.

Ah, but when had he ever considered himself a careful man?

Besides, it would be a simple matter to distract her from unfortunate alliance with the constabulary.

He simply had to seduce her.

Somehow he wasn't finding the notion of such a sacrifice to be unduly arduous.

* * *

**A/N:** Well I hope it was of your liking this chapter, bit short i think. So that's why maybe I'll update sooner, but first i must finish my very long us history summer assigment due the 1st day of school :-(. and it really would be nice to have some reviews ;-)

Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed!

**blueducky511:** Hi! tHaNk yOu fOr ReViEwIng!

Oh and about Tomoyo and Sakura, in my version they're cousins, but more like sisters, and Tomoyo is older than Sakura, but in the real story Sakura is the older. But I'll explain all that in another chapter (I still have to sort out some things) because I know some things are probably confusing or going to. hehe

**dragon 9**: ArIgAtOu! i'LL dO mY bEsT! i hOpe yOu kEeP LikInG aNd RevIeWiNg my StOrY! ;-)

**Alpha2Omega:** GrAcIaS! (Thank you!) for reviewing:-)

**pure-lilly:** aRiGatOu! tHanK yOu fOr yOuR ReViEw I rEalLy ApPrEcIaTe iT, aNd FoR eXpLaInInG tO Me WhAt tHe STORY ALERT wAs! HoPe yoU liKed ThIs ChaPPy ;-)

**black wolf chic2:** MeRcI! I hOpE You eNjOieD thIs ChApTeR :-)

**Snpdgg09: **Grazie! tHanKs FoR rEvIewIng, i dOn'T tHiNk I'm rEaLly tHaT GoOd buT tHaNkS, aNd aBouT tHe AgEs YeAh I kNow ThEy aRe a LiTtLe bIt aWkwArd, bUt YoU kNow It wAs cOmMon bAck In tHoSe tHeyS, iN fAcT In tHe rEaL stoRy SyARon Is LiKe 40 aNd SaKuRa liKe 20. And EvEn In tHis DaYs yOu'lL fInd a LoT of pAirIngS wItH 4 oR mOre YeArs oF DifFeRenCe.

**dragon-skies: **ArIgAtO! thAnk yOu fOr tHe rEvIew, oH aNd yEah I dId kInd of HaD a vAcAtioN hehe ;-)

**MysticSilverHawk: **MeRci! i'M gLad yOu LikE tHe StORy, ThAnkS fOr yoUr rEviEw

**black wolf chic 2**: haha thAnKs aGaiN foR reViewIng, jUst dOn't die ok? ;-) thAt wOulDn'T bE goOd fOr mY reCoRd hehe

Well I ReLly aPprecIatE tHaT yoU rEviEwed aNd GlAd to KnoW yOu lIke the StoRy

uNtiLl nExt time

ya-ne


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Yeah I'm finally updating! Sorry I took long, but I hope you enjoy it

Disclaimer: I don't own CCS, CLAMP does, and this is my version of "Prince of Swords" by Anne Stuart.

Now on with the story!

· ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ ·

The Wolf had two different ways of thievery, and Syaoran could never decide which he preferred. The sheer effrontery of simply strolling into one of his host's private rooms and helping himself to jewelry had a certain charm, just as his adeptness at relieving unpleasant women of their bauble amused him. That occasionally led to an error in judgment, one he found himself forced to correct. His code of honor, in sense of morality, was elastic indeed, nonexistent to most observers. But to him it was clear:

One didn't rob those who couldn't afford it and didn't deserve it. He was interested in relieving only some of the wealthier, less pleasant members of society of their extraneous gewgaws. The same sort of people who'd had no qualms about helping his brother Ryan in his downward spiral of drink and ruinous gaming.

Not that anything so noble as revenge lay behind Syaoran's little journey into a life of crime. He preferred to think it was caused by nothing more than a combination of financial necessity and boredom.

That, however, precluded, robbing innocent, pleasant women of their jewelry. He'd been forced to go to great lengths to return the young Duchess of Denver's pink pearl necklace.

It was far from her most valuable piece, and her older husband could afford to replace it by the gross, but he discovered it had been given to her by her now-deceased mother, and the loss of it had sent the pretty young duchess into absolute despair. He'd found the return even more challenging than the actual taking, and for a brief while he'd considered returning all the baubles he'd stolen. Practicality had soon taken hold though.

Most of the stuff had already been converted into cash and spent. And besides, most of them didn't deserve to have it returned.

Miss Beauchamp had been a different matter. The gaudy Beauchamp diamonds were well known, and her father, Sir Reginald, had been one of Syaoran's brother's chief cronies.

Together they'd gone through their various fortunes, with Sir Reginald following Ryan in death at a discreet interval. Syaoran had considered the diamonds fair game and only fitting recompense, until he discovered that they were simply all Miss Beauchamp and her mother had left of the once-notable Beauchamp fortune. And she had no idea that the agnificent things were a glass-and-paste substitute.

Syaoran's amusement at having been gulled into stealing . worthless baubles had paled when it came to the Beauchamps' despair. Returning them had been simple enough, done with the help of Wein's expert assistance. Replacing

the false gems with real ones had proven more difficult, but Syaoran had been up to the challenge. And the Beauchamps had never realized their recovered jewels had once been totally worthless.

It was during that incident that Syaoran had discovered his alternative form of thievery. The Beauchamps could not a:fford to entertain, and there was simply no way Syaoran could casually find his way to the upper floors of the house, short _of _seducing Miss Beauchamp. And while that notion was far from repugnant, she was in love with a young lordling who adored her, and Syaoran allowed himself enough sentiment to keep from

putting a rub in the way of their upcoming nuptials.

Wein and his associates had been, more than helpful.

Close-fitting black clothes, a moonless night, and a certain agility in scaling fences, buildings, and windows were all that it took.

He nearly broke his blasted neck the first time he tried it. By the third time, he achieved the fastness of Miss Beauchamp's virgin bedroom, tucked the refurbished diamonds into a spot where they'd be likely to be discovered with just the right amount of difficulty, and made his escape, feeling well pleased with himself. Like a black cat, he'd scaled the London rooftops, the moonless night overhead, and felt cool and free with ties to no one and nothing. It was by far the way he preferred his thieving.

There were times he simply took to the rooftops with no aim in mind.

Tonight, however, he knew exactly where he was going. First to the Renfields' town house. The servants would be in bed, the large and graceful rubies would be in Lady Barbara's jewelry box. If by any chance she'd decided to wear her ornate rubies to the less formal party he knew they were attending, then he would have to console himself with her diamonds and pearls.

And then he would wander farther terrain.

To Tomoeda, where he would blend into the shadows. He had no intention of break into the Kinomoto's stronghold. He merely wanted to observe both Sakura and whoever else happened to be watching the place. That other shadow still haunted him, and he wasn't a man who liked unanswered questions.

He didn't pay much attention to Wein's warnings about the infamous Josiah Clegg. Wein had a tendency to worry excessively, and he still couldn't quite believe that a member of the gentry was proving to be as adept a thief as ever he'd known Syaoran had little doubt he could outwit a dozen Cleggs, just as he outwitted everyone else.

With the possible exception of Sakura Kinomoto. It might have been a trick of her strange eyes, but she seemed to see through him with no difficulty at all. He doubted she knew he was the Wolf. If, as Wein assured him, she was actually assisting Clegg, then she should have no hesitation in informing on him to her cohort and collecting the prize money:

It could make a start in getting them out of that dark hovel in Tomoeda.

Yet she'd done no such thing. If the cards had told her he was the Wolf, she was keeping it to herself.

He didn't think it had gone that far yet. She might suspect he wasn't the lazy, rutting fop he carefully presented to society.

When he looked at her he felt neither lazy nor foppish. The strong desire to rut was a different matter entirely.

He should keep his distance, let her be. Put a temporary halt to his larcenous activities. But he had no intention of doing either of those boring things.

Lady Barbara had sensibly left her rubies behind. They didn't become her rather florid complexion, and he could only hope she replaced them with something a little more tasteful.

He seldom ventured into the more dangerous parts of the city during his nightly prowls, and the rooftops of Tomoeda were a far cry from those of Mayfair. Tiles were loose, chimney pots were smoking, and the sky seemed somehow darker. The roof to Miss Kinomoto's house was in equally bad shape. It must have leaked in several spots whenever London was blessed with a soaking rain, he thought. The scent of dampness clung to the place, mixing with soot and ancient odors even less pleasant.

He could hear their voices drifting upward, the soft murmur of well-bred British women, and he wondered what they found to talk about. Did she tell them she'd been thoroughly kissed for what had undoubtedly been the first time in her life? Did she tell them about her fortune-telling cards?

The houses in Tomoeda were plain and unadorned, and there was nothing he could use to climb down and peer inside one of the windows, much as he would have sold his soul to do so. But then, he'd lost his soul long ago - it could hardly have been worth bartering over.

He stretched out flat on the rooftop, pressing his face against the broken tiles. He shut his eyes, letting the cool night air press down around him.

And he listened for her voice

.¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

Tomoyo Daidouji loved her sister Sakura more than anyone else in the world. She loved her sister, and she hated lies. And yet, for some reason she hadn't told Sakura of the man she'd-met.

The man who teased her impossible dreams.

It had been only a few short weeks earlier and yet 'she couldn't remember what life had been like before she'd seen him. She didn't even know his full name. Perhaps it was better that way.

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .Flashback. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

It had been a fine autumn afternoon with a warm sun beating down, giving lie to the approaching winter. Tomoyo sat back and stared at the watercolor she'd just labored over. It was not one of her best efforts, due, no doubt, to the excess haste she'd used in painting it. Her mother had been prostrate, as she was far too often, Sakura was off somewhere, and Tomoyo had been unable to resist the clear afternoon light. She'd taken her paints and escaped the house, walking, down to the canals to capture the late colors of autumn against the gray backdrop of Tomoeda, but she'd been ever mindful of her circumstances.

She'd had to grow used to being alone. The first fifteen years of her life had been spent cosseted and protected, with scarcely a minute left to her own devices, but since the Disaster, as she'd come to think of it, there'd been no maids, no footmen, not even much of a mother to look out for her. She went to the market stalls alone, she took solitary walks when need be.

Surely she would be safe enough in broad daylight?

Someone was watching her. It wasn't an uncommon experience; she was used to having eyes follow her wherever she went. She found her pleasing appearance to be a mixed blessing. Ever since she could remember, young men had importuned her; old women had doted on her, the world seemed eager to please her for no more reward than her smile. It had always seemed a bit unfair to Tomoyo, and she tried not to use it, but that sense of being watched had become a second nature to her.

The colors she'd used were dark and drab, too suggestive of her troubled state of mind. She stared at her picture in dismay, so intent on it that she didn't realize someone had approached until a shadow crossed the canvas.

"Very nice, miss," he said in a voice that was broad and somewhat country but that of a gentleman. She looked up, blinded by the sun for a moment, aware only of immense height. She put up her hand and squinted, knowing she should ignore him, but somehow the broad Yorkshire voice brought her lost home back to her so forcefully that she couldn't help but turn to him.

He looked safe enough. He was dressed rather untidily in sober clothes, and, his dark bluish hair was long and in need of a trim.

But the untidiness seemed the result of having more important things on his mind rather than actual carelessness. He had a strong face - broad features, sapphire eyes, an over strong jaw, and a generous mouth. He looked down at her quite kindly, and for one brief, dangerous moment she wanted to smile back at him.

"It's a hopeless daub," she said uncertainly, taking it from the easel and preparing to rip it up.

He caught it from her hand quite easily.

"Don't do that, lass. It's far too pretty."

She'd never been called lass in her entire life. During her childhood no one would have dared, and in the big, filthy city of London, people were more likely to call her "ducks." There was something about his voice, the gentleness when he said "lass" that warmed her even on a cool autumn day.

And then suddenly she realized what she was doing, having a conversation with a strange man. She glanced around her, but the area around them was empty. She was alone, and he could be a dangerous madman, an abductor of helpless females, a rake and an unprincipled. . .

"Nay, lass, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to harm you. Do1 look like an evildoer?"

"My sister told me I couldn't judge people by their looks."

"Your sister's very wise," he said gently. "Just as you're wise not to trust a stranger just because he seems harmless enough. But I promise you, you have nothing to fear. I'm one of Sir Tom's men."

Tomoyo looked up at him blankly. "I don't understand."

""I'm a member of the police. A Bow Street runner and a detective. I'm what passes for law around here."

"Oh," Tomoyo murmured, vastly relieved. "I was afraid, that is, 1 thought. . ." She could feel the blush mounting to her cheeks.

"I won't harm you, lass. But there are others who aren't what they should be. You shouldn't be here alone, so caught up in your painting. You didn't eyen realize I'd come up on you."

"I do get rather lost in my 'work," she said breathlessly. He was so very big, he should have been frightening. But she wasn't frightened. For the first time since the Disaster, she felt safe.

"I'll keep a watch out for you," he said, "but I can't always be there. You need to watch out for yourself as well, lass."

For a moment she, didn't say anything. He was standing very close, and for a moment she felt as if they were alone in this vast, crowded, noisy city. The people and the filth faded away, and it was green all around, and she was home, in a place she'd never known.

"Miss?" he questioned, staring at her oddly, and the spell was broken. Bringing her back to the present from her daydream

"I have to go," she said, catching up her paints.

She half expected him to stop her, but he made no effort to do so, simply stepping back politely. "Take care, Miss Daidouji of Kinomoto," he said in his deep, country voice.

It wasn't until she reached the safety of her home that she realized he'd known her name. And he still possessed her watercolor of the nearby canals. She'd seen him again during the next few weeks, mostly from a distance, watching over her as she went about her errands. He wouldn't come close enough to speak, and the first time she smiled at him from across the crowded square, he pretended not to notice.

But she persisted, to be rewarded with a faint, acknowledging smile in return.

Tomoyo kept the memory of his smile in her heart, and said not a word to no one.

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ End of .Flashback. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

"What do you do when you go out?" Tomoyo asked in a deliberately casual voice.

Sakura looked up from her mending, startled. The light was growing too dim to work by, and the open window, while it let in comparatively fresh night air, also let in a chill draft.

"Why would you ask such a question?" she countered, setting the tom sheet down and peering at her sister.

"Just curious. There's little enough to occupy my thoughts during the day when you're gone. Mama stays in her bedroom, bemoaning her fate, and we can't afford the amount of paints and paper it would require to keep me busy the entire time."

Sakura looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Tomoyo. Soon we'll be able to afford all the art supplies you could possibly want, but in the meantime. . ."

"In the meantime I could do something as well to help out. You know my watercolors are much admired."

"They always have been, " Sakura agreed warily.

"Our frierids always said so, but you can't trust their kindness. They're hardly likely to tell me I'm a talentless waster of good paint.

But the people around here who watch me when I'm working have assured me I could make a small amount of money if I chose to sell my artwork. Enough to pay for my supplies and a bit left over to go toward the household expenses.

There's no reason you should take on the entire burden of keeping us afloat, and if what I take such pleasure in could bring us some much-needed money then I see no reason why I couldn't do it. I could set up a stall near Covent Garden and -"

"No!" Sakura cried in horror. In a moment she'd modulated her voice. "You'cannot possibly do such a thing. Not in Covent Garden, where'd you be mistaken for a high-class doxy if you aren't carried off by procurers. If anyone should see you, or realize you sold your paintings, your chances of a proper marriage would be flown away."

"By proper you mean wealthy," Tomoyo said carefully.

"Isn't that what you want as well? A kind, caring man who'll take care of you? A man who won't waste his money, leaving his wife and daughters penniless? Wouldn't it be utterly splendid never to have to worry about where our next meal is coming from? Whether we'll be tossed out of even this awful hovel and left to beg on the streets?" Her voice was tight with strain. "Surely nothing would be too great a sacrifice to be spared that. "

"Has it really been that bad, Sakura?" Tomoyo asked quietly. She had never worried where the food had come from. Sakura had always provided, and told her not to concern herself.

She watched with amazement as Sakura gave herself a little shake, seeming to toss off the anxiety that had settled around her. She smiled at her Onee-chan (1)

"I'm being melodramatic, silly goose," she said in a lighter voice. "I won't pretend things haven't been difficult since Father died, but we've made it this far, and things are definitely looking better.

I've just got a case of the megrims. I won't be seeing him again. I'm certain I can manage to avoid him, and if I can't, I shall simply have to give up my society readings."

"Which reminds me. What is the difference between my selling my paintings and your accepting money for reading the fards? Surely it puts you beyond the pale as well?"

"Ah, but I have no intention of marrying well, or at all I don't possess the natural attributes you do, dearest."

"You're ridiculous, Sakura!" Tomoyo exclaimed

Sakura shrugged her narrow shoulders. "One takes the path given one, Tomoyo. Just rest assured that you won't have to marry anyone you don't want to. I have trust in your good sense. I know you'll manage to fall in love with a very wealthy man," she said cheerfully.

"Oh, I'm most sensible, Onee-chan," Tomoyo replied evenly. "I still want to know where you go when you leave here for the day."

"I don't walk the streets looking for customers, sis," she said lightly. "I do card readings."

"But that's fairly recent, isn't it? Lady Akisuki heard of your existence only a few weeks ago."

Sakura hesitated. "I . . . I've been doing readings for others as well," she said finally.

Tomoyo simply waited.

"For the Bow Street runners," Sakura admitted. She really wasn't a good liar especially to Tomoyo, she just couldn't hide something from her even if she tried. Tomoyo would always know when she's lying or keeping something from her.

"The Bow Street runners?" she echoed in a hollow voice, Sakura was too guilty to notice her sister's reaction. "I know it's _not done _Tomoyo" she said hurriedly. "And that's why I haven't; told you or Mama. It has helped support us, and it's been a force for good in society. At least, sometimes," sh'e added with a trace of bitterness.

"I'm certain the police are quite estimable," Tomoyo said faintly.

"Not the ones I've met." Her voice was dark. "You keep away from' the runners, Tomoyo. They're a bad lot, not much better than the criminals they arrest."

"I keep away from everyone, Sakura."

Sakura stared at her, suddenly troubled. "You haven't been bothered, have you? No one has accosted you, asked you qustions, taken liberties?"

"You're the one who was kissed, Sakura-chan. Not me. Though I expect I'm bored enough that I would have enjoyed it more than you did," she added with a forced smile.

"You'd be wrong," Sakura said firmly. "Now, off to bed, or Mama will hear us talking."

"Yes, sister dear. I promise to dream chaste dreams. I wonder if the same could be said of you. What was your wicked seducer's name, by the way?"

"He didn't seduce me," Sakura said sternly. "And I don't know his name."

"And you taught me never to lie!" Tomoyo said with a hollow laugh. "Promise me one thing. **It **wasn't your Bow Street runner, was it?"

Sakura shuddered. "It wasn't, Tomoyo. And it never will be."

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸

Syaoran rolled over onto his back, staring up into the inky blue velvet of the London night. He'd grown used to the smells that surrounded him.In truth, the country was full of less than flowery scents as well, and yet, if he'd had his choice, he'd be far away, without a doubt in Xian Lang, China; far better than this damnable city that ate its children whole.

He'd heard almost every word with gratifying clarity. He counted excellept hearing among his many gifts, and the two Kinomoto members had made little effort to keep their voices down.

After all, no one could hear them unless a cat happened to be prowling on the rooftops and stopped just above an open window.

_Unnerving. _Bless the girl. He'd managed to shake her equilibrium as soundly as she'd shaken his. Of course, in her case it wasn't much of a challenge. An untouched virgin would be easy prey for an experienced scoundrel. He frowned, remembering her words. What other men had she kissed? Whoever they were, they were far too polite and respectful. They probably had nothing but the most honorable of intentions toward her. Whereas his were nothing short of lascivious.

_She couldn't get him out of her mind. _He would have to do his best to remind her, should she have more success at dismissing his memory. She and her impoverished little family were obviously quite desperately in need of money, and he had little doubt the right offer from a respectable source could lure her into society once more. An evening performance, perhaps.

She could read the cards for a few select couples, and he would stay well out of sight so as not to alarm her. And then he would be the perfect gentleman and escort her back to this dreary little hovel.

The thought of that long carriage ride cheered him immensly, and he started back across the rooftops, silent as a cat, moving between the closely packed buildings with his usual dexterity.

Down below, the streets were deceptively quiet too much so. At that time of night even areas like Tomoeda should see some signs of life. A whore or two, perhaps a costermonger, or at least a stray four-footed cat.

On impulse he scrambled down a roof, then dropped to the ground on silent feet. It was a back alleyway, not two streets over from the Kinomoto's abode, and it was a simple enough matter to blend with the shadows in his dark clothes. He hadn't bothered to blacken his face, but the night was a cape to cover him as he moved through the streets like his feline counterpart.

The lights were out in the Kinomoto's house. He stood there, looking up, wondering if the haphazard windows would provide enough of a foothold for him to climb up to Sakura's bedroom, when he sensed the presence of someone nearby.

"Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" said a man's voice, thick, plummy, with an unmistakable London accent.

Syaoran turned around slowly to meet Josiah Clegg's soulless eyes.

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A/N: Well that's it for this time, hope you don't mind...that much, this little cliffy. I can be pretty evil sometimes huh? hahaha -

Now, I wonder, who thought I would continue on with Sakura & Syaoran's little scene? hehe -. be patient my friends, there are still lots to come before that, hehehe

Ohh...but gave it little twist there with Tomoyo & Eriol, told you I would have them included

Sorry I kept you all waiting for a looong time, i hope this chapter is long enough for you guys.

(1) Onee-chan is a way to refer to an older sister in japenese, but like i said before Sakura and Tomoyo are really cousins and best friends since childhood. Tomoyo is older and her mother is Sonomi Daidouji of Kinomoto, they're a branch from the great Kinomoto clan okay? (kinda like the Hyuuga clan, Hinata is heir to the main family, like Sakura, while Neji is just from another branch of the family like Tomoyo. For those who know about Naruto)

Now, for those who reviewed ARIGATOU GOZAIMASU!! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!! MUCHISIMAS GRACIAS!! MERCI!!

**Blueducky511: **Gracias, for reviewing

**MizUnapprochable **Arigatou for reviewing, sorry about my evilness. The tardiness and 'seducing' part hehe, but I hope you liked this chapter

**ladyblossem** Merci for your review, nice to know I have some fans hehe, sorry about the lemons i don't think they'll be there any time soon, but definately there, I promise.

**MewMewPower **Arigatou for reading the story & reviewing, and that you enjoy it. About that 'speed' hehe I'm not quite that good at it, I'm very slow, gomen

**Black Wolf Chic 2: **Thanks for reviewing twice, forgive me for taking so long, arigatou for that little push don't hestitate to do it again if you see I'm way slow okay?

**pure-lilly **Gracias for reviewing my friend, thanks for being with me from the beginning

**Snpdgg09 **Merci for your review, I hope you're still reading it and patient with me hehe

**Alpha2Omega** Thank you for reviewing, don't let your patience and eagerness die

I'll leave you guys with a little quote here:

**"Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, then the lesson afterwards."**

Well that's it (finally finished with this chapter), now if you don't mind I'll have my goodnight sleep.

yaa-ne


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: Yup, I've uploaded chapter 11, swiftly! -

Disclaimer: CLAMP owns CCS not me and this is my version of "Prince of Swords" by Anne Stuart.

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Josiah Clegg didn't appear to be that of a terrifying foe when observed up close. He was an ordinary-looking man, a bit vain, with a wide, thick-lipped mouth and a surprisingly pleasant smile, the kind of smile to inspire confidence.

Syaoran wasn't inspired. Nor was he particularly troubled by the appearance of a man who could be his nemesis. Apart from the interesting revelations he'd overheard beneath the Kinomoto's roof, the night had been far too uneventful.

_"Qui' est-ce?" _(Who are you?)he demanded in his passable French.

"Odd," said Clegg. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be one of these damned Frenchy émigrés. You don't have the face for it."

_"Pourquoi?" _(Why?) Syaoran said, looking vague.

"You don't look British, either," Clegg continued in a smug voice. "I'd say you look more like a Chinese brat by the look of you."

"_Je ne comprends pas," _(I don't understand) Syaoran murmured, about to run out of French phrases.

"Most people who are out at this hour are up to no good," Clegg went on, gazing at him thoughtfully. '_Including you'_ Syaoran thought. "I wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't make certain you were on the up-and-up. Hold out your hands."

_"Pardon?" _(excuse me/What?)

"Your hands, man!" Clegg said impatiently, thrusting his own hands out in demonstration. They were thick, ham like hands, the nails lined with filth.

Syaoran immediately offered his hands. They were equally grimy from his sojourn over the rooftops, grimy enough to disguise his lack of calluses in the darkness of the night.

"You're not a weaver," Clegg said, more to himself. "You haven't got the hands for it. What do you do, live off your womenfolk?" The notion seemed, to amuse him.

"_Je suis un voleur," _(I'm a thief. A/N: I'm very not sure about that one) Syaoran murmured sweetly. _"Je suis le Chat._" (I'm... A/N: I give up, I don't know, sorry guys)

_"Voleur, _eh? What the hell is that?" Clegg demanded. "Let me give you a warning, my friend. This is my territory. Clegg's, you understand? If you haven't heard of me by now, you should have. I'm a dangerous man.

You have any interesting little sidelines, then you pay me to let you be. If you don't, you get hauled in before the Justice, and he doesn't like Frenchies any more than he likes criminals. I'm a little more broad-minded, if you get my drift.

I'm willing to look the other way this time." His thick London accent was deceptively affable. "That is, if you'll tell me what you were doing sniffing around that house back there. I have a personal interest in the young lady there. You think you're going to crawl between her legs and you'll find you don't have anything to put there. You've a pretty face and she probably likes it well enough, but I've got her staked out for me. You understand?"

Syaoran looked at him blankly, seething.

"Half-wit," Clegg said to himself. "Just keep away from them. You understand that much, don't you? I need to keep the young one on my side, but when I'm through with her, I'm going after the older one too, much more attractive and lady-like. And I won't take kindly to anyone who's been there ahead of me."

_"Batard," _(Bastard. A/N: ah…pretty much obvious ne?) Syaoran murmured politely, backing away from him.

"Yeah, _batard _to you too," Clegg muttered, dismissing him (A/N: or not, hehe) "Just-remember she's mine, Frenchy."

Syaoran had never killed a man. He knew how to use pistols and was exceptional with swords; he'd even fought the requisite number of polite duels. Usually he preferred to use his wits and his cunning, not brute force. But looking at Clegg, he found himself filled with a sudden longing to smash the man's teeth down his throat.

"Get out of here," Clegg said irritably. "Your idiot face is beginning to annoy me."

_"Baisez mon cul" _(A/N: Sorry I'm not sure what it means either, but I think he's insulting him, again.)he said, bowing low. And before Clegg could decide to come -closer, he disappeared into the shadows of the dark London night.

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"But, my dear Sakura, I had no idea you possessed such talents! You've been hiding your light under a bushel." Sakura stared at Miss Petrina Stebbin's pale, puglike face with ill-concealed dismay.

She would have been much happier if she had been able to hide her entire self under a bushel. At least Mama was still abed, suffering from the megrims and a surfeit of ratafia, and wasn't there to witness the reentry of one of Sakura's childhood acquaintances into their lives.

Petrina had never been more than that. She had always been an unpleasant child, holding herself remote from the ramshackle Kinomotos. Mr. Kinomoto's descent into poverty and death had set the seal on her disapproval, and the last time Sakura had crossed her path, Petrina had given her the cut direct.

Not today, however. Petrina was all fat smiles and oozing charm, murmuring remembrances of a shared past which, in truth, they hadn't shared at all. To be sure, they had both attended the Christmas routs at Lady Shirley's estate.

But Petrina had been with her group, Sakura with hers.

"They say you have an extraordinary gift," Petrina continued. "I can't say that I'm surprised. You always seemed a bit different from the rest of us. It must be those lovely eyes."

Sakura kept a pleasant expression on her face as she listened to these bald-faced lies. Petrina must have learned tact during the last few years. She had always made spiteful comments about Sakura's witch's eyes.

Sakura herself wasn't feeling particularly diplomatic.

"Who says I have an extraordinary gift?"

Petrina blinked. "Why, everyone. Everyone that matters, that is. You're quite the crest ofsociety. Everyone wants you at their parties; everyone is dying to know more about you."

"Including you?" Sakura said composedly.

Petrina may have learned tact, but sensitivity still eluded her.

"I thought you might like to come to a small house-party my married sister is holding out in Kent. I'm certain you remember Harriet - she married Mr. Wilson, who was quite a catch, as I'm sure you realize.

There will be just a dozen or so guests, and it should all be quite remarkable. I imagine it's been quite a while since you've been in the country. You were always such a charmingly rural soul."

"Quite a while," Sakura echoed. "But I'm afraid I must decline your so-charming invitation. My mother isn't at all well, and I couldn't leave Tomoyo without adequate protection. "

"Surely the servants could look after your mother," Petrina protested, patently ignoring the fact that she had seen no sign of servants during her damnably long visit that afternoon.

"And you could bring Tomoyo with you. I remember her well- such a pretty child. I'm certain we'll find other children to entertain her."

Sakura looked at her childhood nemesis. "Let us be frank, Petrina. You are not inviting me to your sister's house party for the pleasure of my company. You wish me to entertain the guests with parlor tricks, do you not? Reading their cards, telling their fortunes?".

"It's no less than you have done for Lady Akisuki, if rumor can be relied upon."

"Let me give you a little hint, Petrina. Never believe rumors. How I choose to use my talents and for what rewards is simply none of your business."

"My sister said I was to offer you fifty pounds."

Sakura didn't even blink. Petrina's sister Harriet had married a nabob, and she'd obviously lost track of things she could spend her money on. Fifty pounds was a very great deal of money.

Almost tempting. "I'm sorry," Sakura said. "I have my reputation to consider, and Tomoyo's as well."

"One hundred pounds, and you and Tomoyo shall be honored guests," Petrina said hastily.

"I doubt your other guests will view us as such."

"Don't be so starchy, Sakura," Petrina said in an irritable voice that sounded much more natural than her forced amiability. "Your lineage is impeccable, even if your father was a wastrel. Lack of money, while to be deplored, shouldn't put you beyond the pale. Besides, there will be any number of eligible partis.

You're not as charming as I am, but you're not necessarily at your last prayers, you're a tad bit younger than me. If you were lucky, you could manage to attract a gentleman of independent means and secure your future. Perhaps an inventor, poet, or artisan."

Petrina was 25 years old, six years older than Sakura, but Sakura was tactful enough not to mention that fact.

The offer, fraught as it was with disaster, held too many possibilities to be dismissed out of hand. At the rate she was going, it would be another year before Tomoyo could make her debut. A year of living on the edge of unpleasantness's, a year of isolation and potential danger.

A year where anything could happen, where temptation would be fatal. She needed to make her escape, to settle her family and then fade into graceful retirement, away from Clegg, away from the city.

Far away from the disturbing Earl of Xian Lang.

"What do you say?" Petrina persisted.

Sakura closed her eyes for a moment, letting her mind run free, open, seeking. The card that formed in front of her mind's eye was immediate and gratifying. The Hope.

It would be well.

She opened her eyes to survey her former acquaintance's avid face. "Tomoyo and I will accept your gracious invitation," she said smoothly. "It's been too long since we've had the pleasure of a house party in the country.

And we will be more than happy to add what small entertainment we can offer. Tomoyo has quite a gift with her paints, and musical tones, they're all quite divine; and I have no aversion to a playful reading of the cards to while away the tithe."

"A wise choice," Petrina said. "My sister's banker will draw you a draft on her account -"

"No," Sakura said. "We will come only if this is a social invitation, between friends, and not a financial transaction."

"You don't receive money for what you do?" Petrina asked bluntly.

To admit that she did would put her on the level of dressmakers and shopkeepers. To lie would be even worse.

"I do what I deem necessary, Petrina," she said sweetly.

"Your companionship and hospitality will be ample reward."

Petrina looked as if she'd rather be a companion to a snake, but she pursed her plump lips into a sour smile. "I imagine you'll need transportation. My sister would be more than happy to send her carriage for you on Wednesday next…"

"That would be lovely."

Petrina glanced down at Sakura's plain, unfashionable dress.

"I trust you'll be better dressed?"

Typical of Petrina, Sakura thought wearily. Once she'd gotten her way, her overbearing nature came forth. In response she simply smiled. "I'm looking forward to the house party, Petri."

Petrina hated being called Petri. Particularly since her obnoxious boy cousins had always referred to her as Petri-ugly Ogre.

Up until then Sakura had resisted the impulse to use the nickname, but there was something in Petrina's smug blue eyes that brought out the worst in her.

Petrina rose majestically. "And you needn't worry about highwaymen and the like. My sister has made special arrangements for the Bow Street runners to provide protection. The Wolf himself wouldn't dare make an appearance!"

"The Wolf?" Sakura echoed with perfect innocence.

"Oh, that's right, you've been out of society for so long, you probably haven't even heard, of him. He's a most daring and remorseless thief. He steals his way into the finest houses in the city and relieves the owners of their jewels.

Sometimes he commits his wicked deeds when the houses are deserted; sometimes he has the effrontery to rob when the house is ablaze with a party. No one quite knows how he does it. He's as sneaky and silent as the shadows, a coldhearted wolf thief." Petrina's small eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

"I thought you were at Lady Akisuki's when one such a robbery occurred?" she said sharply.

"Perhaps I was. No one bothered to inform me of it," she lied blithely.

"I should think not. It could hardly be your concern," Petrina said with a sniff. She rose and bestowed a gracious kiss on the unwilling cheek of Sakura. "If there's a problem with your wardrobe, let me know and I'll see if I can contrive something. I wouldn't want you to shame my sister."

Sakura stumbled, treading sharply on Petrina's instep then fell back.

"I beg your pardon, Petri," she said with breathless innocence. "I am so clumsy on occasion."

Petrina allowed herself the luxury of a glare. "Till next week. "

Sakura nodded and proceeded to accompany Miss Stebbins to the door.

"I can't imagine where the servants could have gone to," she said vaguely.

Petrina cast a suspicious look around the place. If she suspected the impoverished Kinomoto's couldn't afford so much as a daily maid, her horror would be complete, and the social offer might be rescinded.

Petrina's carriage waited outside the Kinomoto's front door, the liveried coachman guarding it from the curious denizens

of Tomoeda. Sakura stood in the open doorway until it pulled away, then slowly shut the door and leaned against it.

She had probably made a very grave mistake. Her plans were well and carefully made: once she amassed a certain amount of money from her work with the despised Clegg, she could afford to move to better quarters and manage a small, discreet launch into society for her dear Tomoyo.

Once she contracted a reasonable marriage, the future would be assured.

Sakura had learned to make do on very little indeed. Tomoyo didn't need to attract a Croesus - any decently landed gentleman with a kind soul would do.

But this was dangerous indeed. There was no guarantee that any eligible parti would be present at Harriet Wilson's house party, and if the Kinomoto sisters appeared and then disappeared, questions would be asked.

She would have to take some of the carefully hoarded money and make new clothes for Tomoyo, not to mention something decent and discreet for herself. Sonomi still had her extensive wardrobe, however, and there might very well be gowns that could be modified, modernized, cut down to fit Sakura's smaller figure.

It would also make her identity clear. The Gypsy fortune-teller would be unmasked, and certain sticklers might not approve of such a creature for a sister-in-law.

Still, it was a risk she had to take. Josiah Clegg was beginning to frighten her. She'd always been uneasy around him, though she'd lessened her misgivings by assuring herself she was helping the almost lost cause of law and order in the wretched streets of London.

But lately she could no longer believe that, or believe that Clegg cared one whit for justice. He wanted his thief-taker's

share, and it didn't matter to him if it came from the neck of a hardened criminal or an innocent child.

She could help him this one last time. She could enable him to trap the notorious Wolf, and then she could call it quits.

A criminal of such daring would doubtless be worth a generous portion. She could even disdain her own share of it if Clegg would abandon his hold on her.

It seemed reasonable enough, and yet she knew it wasn't.

The answer lay in her cards, and she was afraid to read them.

Afraid to ask the questions that would place her in an impossible situation.

The Wolf was the least of her worries, she reminded herself firmly. The elegant Earl of Xian Lang was similarly only a troubling distraction. With any luck he had already forgotten her very existence, and if she just managed to avoid crossing paths with him, she would be fine.

It was her family that worried her. She needed to get Tomoyo safely and wealthily wed to a decent man who'd accept his responsibilities, including a difficult mother-in law.

And then Tomoyo would be safe. The house party, despite its dangers, could provide the start of a new, more acceptable life for all of them.

It was a chance she had to take. And even if it all came to naught, and they came away from the house party further impoverished with their reputations questionable, she couldn't regret the chance to get out of the stink and filth of London.

But she couldn't help but wonder if the Earl of Xian Lang was one of Harriet Wilson's invited guests.

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A/N: I surprised you all with this fast update didn't I? In less than 5 days, wow I even surprise myself sometimes. hehe. I'm proud of myself. (could it be that I got an 'A' in my chemistry test? My 100 percent brightened the rest of my day, yeah! happy dance but sadly I still have a 'C' --, crys for her mommy ) I'm just happy right now that I'm updating.

Okay...About the French translations, I basically just interpreted them as I could, because I don't know French. But I would love to! So if anyone out there knows French, could you contact me, please? thank you.

And now for my grate thanks to those who reviewed

**Black Wolf Chic 2: **Wow, thanks for your review, it was so quick! Faster than my update. hahaha

**Alpha2Omega: **Arigatou for reviewing my eager reader, hehe

**MizUnapprochable: **Thank you for reviewing! Don't' worry, I appreciate your review, doesn't matter how long it is, but that you review, that you let me know what you think of the story,

**SweetMelancholy **Gracias for your review and for reading the story. Right now I'm just making very slight changes to the book, but it'll change a bit after quite a few more chapters.

Quote: "There is a light at the end of the tunel...just pray it's not a train!"

Well that's all for today

Ja

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here are the french translations i wasn't sure of:

"Je suis un voleur" ("I am a thief")

"Je suis le chat" ("I am the cat")

"Baisez mon cul" ("Kiss my arse")

thanks to my good friend Alpha2Omega

and Aenaisaigo no Tenshi


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N**: Hi everyone, time for a new update! Enjoy chapter 12.

**Disclaimer:** CLAMP owns CCS not me and this is my version of "Prince of Swords" by Anne Stuart.

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It had been a simple enough task, in the end for Syaoran to secure an invitation. While he had no particular interest in traveling down to Sevenoaks for a house party of unremarkable men and women who would doubtless game poorly and indulge in tedious flirtations, the presence of Miss Sakura Kinomoto and her cousin would go a great way toward making up for any inconvenience. He didn't have to thank a lucky providence for coming by that information - the ever-useful Wein imparted that juicy tidbit in the dark hours before dawn, along with other, more dubious warnings.

"You ought to keep away from her, my lord," he said, pocketing Lady Barbara's rubies. "You'll have nothing to fear from her exposing you to Clegg, at least not for the next week or so. She'll be safely in the country, doing the pretty with the other nobs."

"I hardly think she suspects me of nefarious doings," Syaoran said lazily.

"She's a sharp one. Clegg wouldn't be using her if she wasn't, and you know it. If you keep sniffing after her, she'll see right through you. Have a care. You're the best thing that's happened to my packets in years - I'd hate to see you take a dance at the end of a rope."

"Do they hang peers?" Syaoran murmured, unmoved at the prospect.

"They'd hang you, me boy, have no doubt of it. And that girl would have a hand in doing so."

"Then I think it behooves me to throw her off the scent, don't you think? Besides, I'm in the mood to rusticate. A week n the country sounds like just the thing. And Kent is so conveniently close to London."

Wein stared at him suspiciously. "What's going on in that fiendish mind of yours, yer honor?"

"That nothing would please me more than to spend some time with Miss Kinomoto in a social situation. And if, during my period of rustication, the Wolf chooses to strike again in the heart of the city, then it would surely absolve me of any culpability."

"And how will you manage that?" Wein demanded suspiciously.

"With a fast horse and a great deal of daring, my dear Wein. Do you think I can't carry it off?"

"I think you're too wild for my good," he said gloomily. "Nave a care. Clegg wants you badly."

"Fortunately he has no idea it's me he wants."

"Not unless Miss Kinomoto manages to put two and two together."

"In which case I'll simply have to take steps to make sure she doesn't divulge her prowess in sums," Syaoran said gently.

"I can make the arrangements," Wein said unhappily.

"It wouldn't cost much, and the body would never be found.

It's not the kind of work I like to take care of, but. . ."

"I don't want to kill her, my dear fellow," Syaoran said.

"there are much easier ways to silence a woman."

"Yes, but you have to keep her silent."

"Trust me. Miss Sakura Kinomoto is the least of our worries. With a little energy and invention I intend to enchant her with my charms and convince her there's no way on earth

I could be a notorious felon. And if Clegg has been relying on information she's given him, then he too will be convinced."

"For the time being," Wein grumbled.

"Nothing lasts forever. I can't see myself as a fifty-year-old burglar, climbing over walls. We'll end with a final, triumphant theft, something so extraordinary that everything afterward would seem unbearably tepid."

"I can't imagine it, yer lordship."

Syaoran smiled his eyes half closed as visions of jewel-en-crusted gold glowed in his mind.

"I can," he said softly.

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When Sakura Kinomoto looked out the window on that gray

November day, it was all she could do to ignore the air of foreboding that, settled down over her.

"Do you suppose we'll be riding in a crested carriage?" Tomoyo asked, peering out the window beside her.

Sakura allowed herself a maternal glance at her cousin. There was very little money left now - almost everything had gone into Tomoyo's new wardrobe; There was enough to keep the small household for a few weeks, enough to pay for a maid-companion to keep the reclusive Mrs. Daidouji of Kinomoto company while her daughters, enjoyed a visit in the country. But when they returned, if Tomoyo was still unattached, their situation would be dire indeed.

If worse came to worst, Josiah Clegg would be waiting.

"I can't imagine why we should. Petrina's sister didn't marry anyone with a title," Sakura replied, smoothing the gray silk of her altered dress with a nervous hand. It had been one of her mother's, and it had taken the dressmaker's best efforts to transform the large, stately gown into something resembling a young woman's dress it la mode. Her efforts hadn't been an entire success. To be sure, at least Sakura's breasts weren't crushed flat beneath a too-tight bodice. But with the drab color, high neck, and modest skirts, she looked like a boring mentor.

It was just as well - it made her a perfect foil for Tomoyo.

They'd managed to afford three new day dresses of flowered silk, two evening dresses, and a new bonnet. Their finances hadn't lent themselves to a riding habit, but Tomoyo cheerfully announced that she'd simply say she didn't ride. And if an occasion called for a different sort of clothing, she would plead a headache and retire to her room.

Sakura peered back into the rainy morning.

"I didn't think you cared about crested carriages," she said, trying to shake off the peculiar edgy feeling that assailed her. She hated premonitions. Her gift with the cards was a gift and a burden, enough to fill her life. The odd feelings that sometimes crept in were almost more than she could bear.

"I've decided I ought to enjoy the finer things in life, since

I intend to marry them."

There was a faint troubling note beneath Tomoyo's carefree voice, though when Sakura turned, Tomoyo flashed her a dazzling smile.

"You don't have to," Sakura said soberly.

"If I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Tomoeda,

I do," Tomoyo said cheerfully. "Besides, didn't Megumi always tell me it was just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man? I'm a practical creature - I intend to fall in love with a very wealthy man with all due haste. Making certain, of course, that he's equally in love with of me."

Sakura managed a faint smile.

"That sounds most convenient. I can only hope fate decides to cooperate." She turned her gaze back into the dark London street as a carriage pulled up in front of the house.

"We have a week to make it happen, Sakura," Tomoyo said with a confidence that was almost believable.

"I believe our carriage is here, Tomoyo." Sakura pulled away from the window.

"We should -" She stopped, perplexed. "Who in heaven's name is that man?"

Tomoyo peered out the window beside her, then drew back in sudden shock.

"I - I don't know," she stammered, her face pale.

Tomoyo had no talent for lying. She seldom even attempted it, particularly with Sakura, and it made the failure all the more apparent. Sakura didn't say a word, she simply looked hard at her cousin for a moment.

"Then we'd best see who it is," she said calmly enough as a firm rap was sounded on the front door.

"You do it," Tomoyo said breathlessly, racing for the narrow stairs. "I'm going to see that Mama has everything she needs before her companion arrives."

She disappeared up the stairs in a flurry of skirts before Sakura could utter a protest. The knock sounded again, firm but not peremptory, and Sakura moved to open it, steeling herself for what she might find.

The tall, loose-limbed man who stood there looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't quite remember where she might have seen him. He was quietly dressed in plain dark clothes, he held his hat in his hand, and his hair tumbled above his clean, rumpled collar.

"Miss Kinomoto?"

It was a northern accent, a country one, that conjured up memories of hay fields and horses and bright hot sunshine. But the man in front of her had the city in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to escort you to Wilson Manor. My name's Hiragizawa. Eriol Hiragizawa."

He hardly seemed the type to socialize with Petrina, but he was, on closer examination, an extremely handsome man in a rough-hewn sort of way. She'd seldom seen such clear blue eyes.

"Are you one of the guests, Mr. Hiragizawa?" she asked.

"No, miss. I'm a Bow Street runner. Hired for the occasion, to provide protection for the guests."

She couldn't control her little start of shock, but she hoped he wasn't sharp-eyed enough to notice her discomfort.

"Are the wilds of Kent that dangerous, Mr. Hiragizawa, that we need a bodyguard?" she asked lightly.

"Not likely, miss. Most of the highwaymen in the area are an incompetent lot, and they're unlikely to be out and about in such nasty weather. Mrs. Wilson is concerned about thieves.

In particular, the Wolf."

"Then why did she invite him, Mr. Hiragizawa?" she asked innocently.

She expected annoyance. Instead, a gleam of amusement lightened his clear blue eyes, and the faintest trace of a smile tilted his mouth.

"If anyone knew who the Wolf was, Miss Kinomoto, then he wouldn't be free to accept invitations and continue his thieving." He glanced around the empty hallway.

"Where's your cousin?"

Sakura didn't need the cards in front of her to see the truth.

Indeed, Tomoyo's sudden appearance at the top of the stairs, the narrowing of Hiragizawa's eyes as he caught sight of her, told her far more than she particularly wanted to know.

"I'm here," Tomoyo said breathlessly, descending the stairs.

"This is Mr. Eriol Hiragizawa. My cousin, Tomoyo Daidouji of Kinomoto.

Mr. Hiragizawa is a Bow Street runner who's been hired to protect Mrs. Wilson's house party from stray felon. We're lucky enough to have his protection for our trip to Kent."

She watched as her cousin lifted her clear, lovely eyes to meet the solid blue ones of the man who towered over her.

"Miss Tomoyo," he said politely, seemingly impervious to her astonishing beauty. If he really had no reaction to it, he would be the first man to prove resistant.

"Miss Kinomoto, I realize this is an imposition. If you would rather, I could ride outside with the coachman. "

"Oh, no, Mr. Hiragizawa," Tomoyo broke in, breathless. "It's a wretched day, and Sakura and I would be glad for your company. Wouldn't we, Sakura?"

Sakura would have been entirely' glad for Eriol Hiragizawa to have fallen into the Thames and stayed there, but she said nothing, summoning a faint smile as she felt her world and her plans begin to crumble around her.

"Of course, Mr. Hiragizawa," she said. "We would have it no other way."

Eriol sat across from them, his greatcoat damp with cold rain, his untrimmed hair sodden. Sakura wondered if there was any way she could change her mind about this ill-advised journey. It was too late to turn her...ankle climbing up into the carriage - perhaps a sudden convincing indisposition. . . ?

The carriage started with a jerk, flinging them back against the thinly cushioned squabs, and the die was cast. She glanced over at Tomoyo, horrified to see the faint, hopeful smile that flitted around her perfect mouth. At least Hiragizaea seemed impervious to Tomoyo's perfection. His expression was bland, polite, everything that it should be. And yet Sakura didn't believe it.

He settled a corner of the carriage, obviously trying to make himself inconspicuous. A goal that was doomed to fail, given the sheer size of him. It took Sakura a moment to realize that he wasn't going to intrude on them, wasn't going to speak unless spoken to, and she knew she should breathe a sigh of relief.

But she'd been in Tomoeda too long, and Eriol Hiragizawa, for all that he represented a greater threat to their future than Clegg himself, reminded her of decent people and the countryside, two things she missed very dearly, and she couldn't bring herself to snub him as she knew she should.

"Have you lived in, London long, Mr. Hiragizawa?" she murmured with all the manners Megumi had drummed into her.

Eriol smiled, and Sakura could have cursed herself.

The man was attractive enough in a rough sort of way when he was looking stern. When he smiled, even Sakura could feel an answering warmth. As for Tomoyo, she was sitting in her own corner, peeking at him, obviously besotted.

"How could that tell I'm not from around these parts, miss?" he said, letting his Yorkshire accent broaden even further.

After twelve years in this city I would have thought I'd sound like a native."

"I doubt you'll ever sound like a Cockney, Mr. Hiragizawa,"

Tomoyo said.

"It was foolishness that brought me here," said Eriol wryly. "A boy's desire to do good and make a difference. When you're 13 you don't realize you can do just as much good

on your father's farm by Robin Hood Bay as you can chasing

criminals in London."

"Your parents were farmers?"

"Aye," Hiragizawa said. "They had their own land, and a place big enough to support a growing family. But I was too wise to realize how little I knew. As for my parents, I expect they thought I'd be dead in a matter of weeks. But here I am, twelve years later, hale and hearty."

"Don't you miss the countryside, Mr. Hiragizawa?" Tomoyo asked in her soft voice, her eyes not, quite meeting his. "I know I do. I would give anything to return."

"Aye, I miss it," he said, and Sakura realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn't bring himself to look directly at her cousin either. But he'd had no trouble whatsoever meeting her gaze. "I'll go back, I expect, sooner or later. Once I finish what I've set out to do."

"And what's that, Mr. Hiragizawa?" Tomoyo asked softly.

"No _Mister_, lass," he said, looking somewhere past Tomoyo's

shoulder. "Just Hiragizawa will suit me fine."

"Do you plan to rid London of crime before your return to your bucolic existence?" Sakura murmured.

"Hardly, miss," he said with a wry grimace. "I'd be here till doomsday. No, I've set myself a task, and once I've completed that, I'm free to leave. I want to catch the Wolf himself. Once he's brought to justice, I'll return to Yorkshire. Find myself a good country lass to marry and raise children." He deliberately looked away from Tomoyo. "A simple life but a good one, that's all I ask."

"Well, then," Sakura said in a deceptively quiet voice,

'"We'll simply have to hope you find your master thief as quickly as possible. Won't we, Tomoyo?"

"Of course," Tomoyo murmured instantly, her voice lacking the ring of enthusiasm.

A trail of alarm danced down Sakura's backbone. The danger was all around, but her first thought, as always, was to protect her family, and the rest could sort itself out. "And we'll do our best to help you, Mr. Hiragizawa," she added generously.

She would deal with Clegg when the time came.

Tomoyo was staring at her, openmouthed in shock. "But, Sakura, What about. . . . ?" Her voice trailed off before Sakura's secretively silencing glare.

"I'd be most grateful, miss, though I can't imagine how you'd be able to help. I mean to catch him, and I'm not about to let anyone stand in my way. Not the Wolf himself, not his accomplices, not the people he's bribed or the thief-takers who want him themselves. I'll catch him in the act, present him to Sir Eriol, and turn in my pikestaff and pistol for boots and a pitchfork."

"I used to love it when they harvested the com near our house," Tomoyo said soulfully.

"That's not all you use a pitchfork for, miss," Eriol said wryly.

"There's nothing to love about manure."

"Not so, Mr. Hiragizawa. You'd have a poor crop without it," she shot back.

"True enough, miss. You might make a farmer after all."

The words fell into the carriage with shocking force.

"I don't think that's what my cousin aspires to," Sakura said in a deceptively calm voice.

Again there was that easy, polite smile.

"I wouldn't think so, Miss Kinomoto. When she marries a wealthy landowner, she'll have more understanding for the tenants though."

Sakura relaxed slightly - only slightly.

"And what about you, Mr. Hiragizawa? Will you be able to look back on your time in London with pride? Knowing you kept the city safe from twelve-year-old felons?" She couldn't keep the faint hint of acid from her voice. Eriol Hiragizawa seemed a far cry from the odious Josiah Clegg, but if she had learned one thing over the last few difficult years, it- was that looks could be deceiving, and she would be a fool to trust anyone.

"No, miss," he said. "But I'll feel right pleased when the Wolf comes to the end he deserves. Dancing at the end of Tyburn's rope."

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Syaoran was not in a dancing mood at that particular moment. It was a dank, miserable day; he was up before noon, and he was soundly regretting his rash decision to spend the next week in company with an entirely odious bunch of brainless matrons and their docile spouses. He had to have been mad to come up with this latest notion. For all Miss Sakura Kinomoto's bizarre attractions, she was surely not worth the trouble he was setting himself. He could always blame it' on his inability to resist a challenge. She'd set herself up as a woman who could see past masks and charades, who looked into her cards and divined the truth. If she had any talent at all, she clearly hadn't bothered to ask the cards about him. He wanted to see how far he could push her. Whether she would stay oblivious, or whether she really had some supernatural talent beneath those witch's eyes?

And he wanted to bed her quite desperately. Desperation was not an emotion he was used to entertaining.

He didn't like to think himself ruled by his passions. The fact that he had a strong desire to tumble Miss Kinomoto of the mysterious eyes was nothing to worry about; the fact that he was willing to go to such lengths to do so was decidedly unsettling.

He could tell himself her presence at this dratted house party was the least of his concerns, but he made it a point of honor never to lie to himself.

At least James Dorward would accompany him on the rain-soaked journey, and they could while away the trip with a few hands of cards. Of course, he'd have to let Jim win enough to continue gaming, but subterfuge was hardly beyond Syaoran's capabilities. As long as Jim didn't go on too much about his intended's dubious virtues.

It wasn't as if Jim were truly enamored of the very wealthy Miss Petrina Stebbins. He was madly in love with her sixty thousand pounds a year, however, and by extolling her attractions, he obviously hoped to convince himself of the felicity of his hoped-for union. This house party was to put the seal on, his ongoing courtship - Petrina's father had looked upon his suit with favor, and the exacting heiress seemed to consider Jim's witless charm appealing.

Which would leave Syaoran free to pursue Sakura.

Whether he would simply endeavor to convince her of his guileless innocence, or seduce her into not caring, was a question still to be decided. The second tack was preferable, but fraught with danger. And Syaoran knew himself well enough to realize it was the danger that appealed almost as greatly as Miss Kinomoto herself.

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A/N: Hi everyone! Now wasn't this a long chapter? Please Review me and tell me what you think of the story so far, okay?

by the way mErRy ChRiStMaS!! (hey, it's never too late right?) and hAPpY nEw YeAr!!

**SweetMelancholy:** Muchas Gracias for your review happy new year!!

**Alpha2Omega:** Merci for reviewing hehe thank you very much for your help with the French! Hey um...do you think you can e-mail me some French lessons or something so that I can learn some French; please pretty please with cherry on top? (you can find my e-mail in my profile, thanks) Happy new year!!

**That was fast wasn't it? I mean my update of ch11. hehe uh...but i wouldn't get too use to it if i were you hehe gomen. But i promise to do my best! fight-oh!! (lol a bit too much Gokusen lately o.O).**

**Black Wolf Chic 2:** Thank you for reviewing. Happy New Year!! you know i was really happy about my A on chem hehe, thanks Oh...and i'm very glad your liking the story, be patient with my me, like i said i'll do my best, on the chapters of course, not so sure about the updates, now there i can't promise anything, gomen. just wait patiently, give a push from time to time, but don't die! i still want you, Black Wolf Chic 2 to read my story (eventually) and to review, so see you next time, i hope

Aenaisaigo no Tenshi: Gracias for your review, and tip about the cat in french. Happy New Year!! Thanks for letting me know you like the story

MizUnapprochable: Arigatou for your review. Happy New Year!! about that Petrina i thought so, my sentiment also hehe that's why i chose that name for her , no offense intended to anyone.

**what Clegg wants more from Sakura is her power to get rich and all, the other...he wants it more from Tomoyo. Sakura is seen a bit weirdly because of the cards and her eyes, she's even bit tomboyish, so people don't really know how pretty Sakura really is, something even she doesn't seem to see...hehe. ah but from what the rest seem to run away from, appearently seems to attract a certain little wolf, now doesn't it?**

**Sakura believes Tomoyo will be happy if she marries a nice rich man, that's why she does her best to help Tomoyo, and drives the attention to Tomoyo, for those nice and rich guys. while she hides in the shadows (oh but I think someone is already hidden in the shadows, right Syaoran?) . But it seems Sakura will need to learn a thing or two about love now won't she?**

Quote: "There is only one kind of love, but there are thousands of different versions."

HaPpY nEw YeAr everybody!!

ya-ne


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N:** uh...hello?? anybody out there still bothering in reading this? I do hope so,

**Disclaimer:** CLAMP own CCS

and this is based on Anne Stuart's book "Prince of Swords"

Please read, enjoy

& review !

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('·.̧('·.̧··̧.·'́)̧.·'́)  
«·́̈·Chapter 13·́̈·»  
(̧.·'́(̧.·'́ ̈ '·.̧)'·.̧.)

Syaoran was not in a dancing mood at that particular moment. It was a dank, miserable day, he was up before noon, and he was soundly regretting his rash decision to spend the next week in company with an entirely odious bunch of brainless matrons and their docile spouses.

He had to have been mad to come up with this latest notion. For all Ms. Sakura Kinomoto's bizarre attractions, she was surely not worth the trouble he was setting himself. He could always blame it on his inability to resist a challenge. She'd set herself up as a woman who could see past masks and charades, who looked into her cards and divined the truth. If she had any talent at all, she clearly hadn't bothered to ask the cards about him.

He wanted to see how far he could push her. Whether she would stay oblivious, or whether she really had some supernatural talent beneath those witch's eyes?

And he wanted to bed her quite desperately. Desperation was not an emotion he was used to entertaining.

He didn't like to think himself ruled by his passions. The fact that he had a strong desire to tumble Miss Sakura of the mysterious eyes was nothing to worry about; the fact that he was willing to go to such lengths to do so was decidedly unsettling.

He could tell himself her presence at this dratted house party was the least of his concerns, but he made it a point of honor never to lie to himself.

At least Frederic Lindbergh would accompany him on the rain-soaked journey, and they could while away the trip with a few hands of cards. Of course, he'd have to let Freddie win enough to continue gaming, but subterfuge was hardly beyond Syaoran's capabilities. As long as Freddie didn't go on too much about his intended's dubious virtues.

It wasn't as if Freddie were truly enamored of the very wealthy Miss Petrina Stebbins. He was madly in love with her sixty thousand pounds a year, however, and by extolling her attractions, he obviously hoped to convince himself of the felicity of his hoped-for union. This house party was to put the seal on his ongoing courtship Miss Petrina's father had looked upon his suit with favor, and the exacting heiress seemed to consider Freddie's witless charm appealing.

Which would leave Syaoran free to pursue Sakura. Whether he would simply endeavor to convince her of his guileless innocence, or seduce her into not caring, was question still to be decided. The second tack was preferable, but fraught with danger. And Syaoran knew himself well enough to realize it was the danger that appealed almost as greatly as Miss Kinomoto herself.

There was a damp chill in the small, elegant house, brought on by the rain and the fact that he'd be gone. It reminded him of his childhood. The drafty halls of Xiao Lang Abbey, the damp loneliness of the vast wing with only his tutor for company. A sudden sweep of pain rushed over him, and he shivered, clenching his hands so tightly they broke the delicate chicken-skin fan he used for comic effect. At the moment de didn't feel particularly comic.

The anger that flared up deep inside him was almost painful. He wasn't ready to consider where that anger came from, but he knew where he could direct it. Toward the busybody, entrancing Miss Kinomoto, who would deserve the very thorough seduction she was about to receive. And would, in her dotage, look back upon the memory with fond pleasure.

He seldom spent his time seducing virtuous young women, but he had little doubt he could accomplish the task. Particularly since she'd shown herself such an apt pupil when he'd kissed her in Nakuru Akisuki's parlor. The memory, the taste of that kiss, immediately made him hard, and he found his anger had fled, replaced with a wry smile. The thought of Miss Kinomoto continued to have that decidedly adolescent effect on his anatomy. If he didn't take pains to render himself resistant, the house party could prove quite an embarrassment.

"Halloo? Anyone home?" Freddie called from the hallway.

He spied Syaoran through the gloom. "What in God's name are you doing, moping around in the darkness, Syaoran? It's not like you. Where are the servants?

Syaoran donned his indolent charm like a discarded cloak, crossing the dark room into the pool of light.

"They've abandoned me, Freddie," he murmured. "You're late."

"Demme, it's an indecent hour," Freddie protested. "I don't see why we can't drive at a leisurely pace, stop along the way, and arrive there tomorrow."

"You'd best get used to the parson's mousetrap, Freddie. If you want all of Miss Petrina's lovely money to play with, you're going to have to let her call the tune. And she wants you there today."

Freddie snorted, obviously not sure the heiress's tidy portion was worth an early rising.

"Well, let's not stand about discussing it. If we have to go at such a godforsaken hour, let's be off."

He looked suddenly abashed. "Beg pardon, Syaoran. I forgot you were doing this for me. It was dammed kind of you to offer to keep me company. Not quite sure of Petrina yet, and I could use your support."

Syaoran smiled faintly, forbearing to mention the irresistible presence of Sakura Kinomoto. Not that Freddie would have the faintest idea that Syaoran would be interested. She was hardly Syaoran's usual sort of inamorata.

"Glad to be of assistance, Freddie," he said. "Besides, I could use a little rustication."

Freddie, never a lover of rural pleasures, looked even more gloomy.

"Quite so," he said under his breath. "And if Petrina turns down my suit, we could always leave early." He looked marginally more cheerful at the notion.

"Leaving you with Lady Susanna Lowell as your only other marital prospect," Syaoran pointed out.

Freddie shuddered. The callous and portly Lady Susanna made Petrina Stebbins appear to be a diamond of the first water.

" Kent isn't that countrified," he said hopefully. "She'll have me, won't she, Syaoran?"

"She'd be a fool not to," he said gently. Freddie was an exceedingly feckless, foolish young man, in many ways reminding Syaoran of his brother. So far Freddie had resisted the lure of heavy drinking, but his gaming was already dangerously deep, and he needed a wife to settle him, a rich wife to keep him, and a horde of noisy children to distract him.

If only everyone's life could be so easily settled, Syaoran thought grimly, none of his thoughts showing in his cool, detached expression.

"The sooner you come up to scratch, Freddie, the sooner you can ease worrying," he pointed out, again. "Shall we leave to Kent then?"

"To Kent!" Freddie said, reaching for enthusiasm, but falling sadly short.

"To Kent," Syaoran murmured. "And all the pleasures that there await us."

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The weather didn't improve during the seemingly endless trip to Sevenoaks

_(A/N: sorry guys I think I changed Sevenoaks to something else but I couldn't find my notes so I'm leaving it as it is to update sooner. Oh! I also changed Freddie Matso to Frederic Lindbergh, but Syaoran will still refer to him as Freddie. ok?)_

Tomoyo was fortunate enough to fall asleep, Eriol Hiragizawa leaned back and closed his eyes, but Sakura wasn't fooled. In his own way, he was alert as Clegg or more. Perhaps it was a necessity for thief-takers. It made sense – if you were ever alert, no one could sneak up behind you.

The poorly sprung carriage went over a bump, and Sakura found herself tossed against the thin cushions with a resounding thump. Tomoyo slept on, the sleep of the innocent, but Eriol opened his eyes.

"It was kind of Mrs Wilson to send us the coach," he observed pleasantly in a voice pitched low as not to wake Tomoyo.

Sakura looked around her. It was, in truth, a horrid coach, made for transportating servants and poor relations. The squabs were thin, and the wind and rain blasted through the windows. Either Harriet Wilson was less well-to-do than Petrina had suggested, or the coach was a deliberate snub. Sakura had the melancholy suspicion it was the latter, and her dread of the upcoming visit grew.

"Very kind," she said absently, stroking the cheap material.

Silence filled the carriage once more, broken only by the sound of their breathing and the clop of the horses in the heavy rain. For a moment Sakura thought she too might sleep, until Eriol cleared his throat.

"I'm a man who prefers plain speaking, miss," he said calmly enough. "And you're a lady who's more observant than most. I'd say you've guessed that your cousin and I were previously acquaintanced."

It was only a slight knot in her stomach, Sakura thought, keeping a calm expression on her face. She'd survive.

"I suspected as much," she replied, furtively putting a hand on her stomach.

"I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression," he continued in a soft voice as Tomoyo slept on. "I know my place, Miss Kinomoto. You need not to fear from me."

She looked at him steadily. "What is your place, Mr Hiragizawa?"

"I'm a thief-taker, Miss Kinomoto. Born a farmer, and I'll die a farmer, but in the middle I've spent a few years seeing things you couldn't imagine. Your cousin is a lady. She'll marry well and have a good life, and I wish her the best."

"Mr Hiragizawa –" She began, uncertain what to say.

"Pay me no mind, Miss Kinomoto. I just didn't want you to worry about something that will never, ever happen. I'm from another world, and I know that. I was sent to keep you and others safe. And you are safe, miss. Have no fear of that."

She looked into his strong, calm face. He was a good man, far more worthy than a thousand Cleggs put together. More decent than the undoubtedly Earl of Xian Lang, kinder than anyone she'd met in years.

"Mr Hiragizawa," she said gently, "I hope and pray my cousin marries a wealthy, titled gentleman who is exactly like you."

He smiled at her kindly. "I do too, miss."

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**A/N:** As you can see I'm still alive (although I'm still in battle against homeworks)

and updated. For all those who patiently (yes patiently, to which I'm very glad and hope you still are to keep reading) waited for it.

**_THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!_ **

**Alessandrina: **mUcHaS gRacIaS! for reviewing. we'll soon arrive to Kent!

**DeliciouslyGood: **aRigaTou! (i sure have a bounty homework to do the whole year, i would prefer a mount of reviews though hehehe) don't worry you'll read another 'activity', thanks for reviewing!

**Quickstar:** ThAnk YoU foR tHe rEvIew! true, true, but don't worry Sakura's nature isn't like that so she'll come along, i don't know about syaoran though hehehe, just continue reading and reviewing and you'll see what happens.

**unknown beedee:** ThAnkS foR rEvIewiNg! I'm glad you like the story so far, and remember it's my version from Anne Stuart's book Prince of Swords.

**Black Wolf Chic 2**: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING ME 3 TIMES AND SENDING YOUR CONCERNS IN A MESSAGE!!! you're truly my best friend here in I hope you don't mind me adding you to my contact list in msn. please let me know and i'll add you. Sorry for making you worry and keeping you waited for a long time, i hope you liked this chapter.

_"Love is like war easy to start hard to end impossible to forget"_


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Don't you think Chapter 13 was a bit short?? I thought so. So I decided to update soon this chapter

**Disclaimer:** CCS isn't mine, but CLAMP's. This is my version of Anne's Stuart's book "Prince of Swords"

('·.̧('·.̧··̧.·'́)̧.·'́)  
«·́̈·Chapter 14 ·́̈·»  
(̧.·'́(̧.·'́ ̈ '·.̧)'·.̧.)

Their arrival at Wilson Manor confirmed Sakura's worst fears. Harriet Wilson's coachman deposited them at a side entrance, with no covering from the heavy rain. They found their way into a dank, ill-lit hallway, only to be met by a bitter-looking woman who could only be the housekeeper.

She looked at the rain-bedraggled trio and sniffed.

"You there," she said to Hiragizawa. "One of the footmen will show you to the kitchen. Your colleagues are there, eating up cook's best tea cakes." Her disapproving gaze slid over Sakura and Tomoyo, and instinctively Sakura put her arm around Tomoyo, feeling her faint shiver.

"I'll show you to your room." There was no missing the grudging tone in her voice.

Sakura steeled herself. "And where is Mrs Wilson? I should like to greet my hostess."

"She's busy with her guests," the woman said shortly, making it abundantly clear that that category didn't include the Kinomotos. "She'll see you when she has time. Follow me." She started up a narrow flight of stairs.

Sakura managed a soothing smile for Tomoyo as she tucked her arm through hers.

"Don't worry, Tomoyo," she said softly, "I'll sort everything out. In the meantime, I think we want to get out of our wet clothes, don't we?"

"Yes, Sakura," Tomoyo said. She glanced back toward Hiragizawa, who stood waiting in the hallway, a troubled expression on his face. "Thank you for your company, Mr Hiragizawa," she said in her soft lovely voice.

"My pleasure, miss," he said stolidly.

"Come along!" the voice coming from down the narrow stairs sounded more like a schoolmarm's than a housekeeper's. With a fleeting smile in Eriol's direction, Tomoyo and Sakura began to climb the narrow stairs.

By that time Sakura had lost most of her illusions, so it came as no surprise to find the chilly, uncarpeted hallway stretching out before them.

The woman was standing outside one plain, dark door.  
"I'm Mrs. Merry," she informed them, and it was all Sakura could do to keep a straight face at the ill-fitting name.

"Housekeeper to Mrs. Wilson. My room is right down the hall from this one, and I'll thank you not to disturb me. I work hard and I need my rest." Her mean eyes narrowed. "Where are your bags?"

"In the hallway," Sakura said serenely. "Waiting for a servant to bring them up."

"Saucy," Mrs. Merry muttered under her breath.

"And we'll need hot baths, and someone to help us unpack," Sakura continued smoothly, determined not to be cowed.

The housekeeper pushed open the door, exposing a small, cold room with one small narrow bed, a washstand, and not much else. There were no hangings on the window, and the bed linen lay folded neatly on the bare mattress.

"I wouldn't be counting on it, miss. This is a busy household this week – we don't have time for any extra work." She started away from them, but to Sakura's surprise, Tomoyo spoke up, her soft voice firm.

"And when shall we be joining Mrs. Wilson?"

"That's up to her. You'll be having dinner brought to your room for the time being. You'll be informed when you're needed." Without another word she left them, sodden, angry, standing in the drafty hallway.

"I suspect," Tomoyo said quietly, "that I'm not about to meet my future husband this week,"

"I'm going to kill Petrina Stebbins," Sakura said fiercely. "I'm going to strangle her with my bare hands, and then I'm going to strangle her sister as well."

"I'd really prefer you didn't, darling," Tomoyo said with a bit of humor. "I wouldn't want Mr. Hiragizawa to arrest you."

"It would be quite convenient for him," Sakura replied. "The culprit would be caught red-handed, and there wouldn't even be a need for a chase."

"But I wouldn't like it. I was awake, you know, when you were talking about me."

"I suspected as much," Sakura said "You aren't very good at fooling me. Do you have any...feelings for Mr Hiragizawa?"

"Feelings?" Tomoyo echoed with an airy laugh, stepping into the small, dank room. "Don't be ridiculous, Sakura."

"He's very handsome" Sakura offered, closing the door behind them.

"Is he?" I hadn't noticed. I'm grateful for his company, as I'm sure you are. And I have the morbid suspicion that he's going to be the last friendly face we see all week. Nevertheless, he's not of our world," she said firmly. "And apart from gratitude, I have no feelings for him whatsoever."

It was flat-out, bald-faced lie, but Sakura made the wise decision not to point it out to her. She looked around the pitiful little bedroom.

"I doubt his world can be that far removed from our current circumstances," she said gloomily, dropping down on the bed. The mattress was thin and hard and gave off a peculiar odor.

"I'm sorry I brought you here, Tomoyo. Sorry I got you full of hopes."

Tomoyo sank down beside her and put her arm around Sakura's waist.

"It's not your fault, Sakura," she said fiercely. "Couldn't we just leave? Say we were called back to London by our ailing mother?"

"They would know we'd received no such message. And if this is any example of Harriet Wilson's hospitality, I imagine we'd be lucky to catch a ride in the back of a farmer's wagon."

"You know," Tomoyo confessed, "I've always wanted to ride in a farmer's wagon. When I was little I wanted to be a farmer's wife."

And Sakura, who thought her spirits couldn't sink any lower, burst into tears.

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The Wolf was on the prowl. Not that Syaoran had the slightest intention of helping himself to any of Harriet Wilson's tawdry jewels.

For one thing, they were not only hideous, but second rate, the gemstones flawed and poorly hued.

For another, it would have set his plan awry. He had come to this wretched little house party with the sole intention of diverting any possible suspicion away from himself.

He merely liked to know the lay of the hand, so to speak, in case he was called upon to make a quick escape.

And, he had to admit, it wasn't quite to his sole purpose. He was awaiting, with growing impatience, the arrival of Sakura Kinomoto.

He had every intention of whiling away his time flirting with her, of stripping her of her doubts, her wariness, her inhibitions, and her clothing in short order.

He couldn't remember when he'd last wanted a woman so badly, and her very lack of pretension to matchless beauty seemed only to fire him more.

In the meantime, though, he was restless and irritable. Harriet Wilson's guests had nothing to talk of but horses and hunting, subjects that grew stale quickly.

Freddie was doing his damnedest to fix his interest with Petrina Stebbins, a task that filled Syaoran with sympathetic horror, and his hostess herself was oblivious, which seemed to be most of the time.

If things grew any more tedious, he was tempted to say the hell with it and make his way back to London no matter how Wein would scold him. Tyburn Tree was preferable to boredom any day.

Wilson Manor was singularly lacking in challenge. It was an ell-shaped building, the public and family rooms in the main section of the house, including his own ornate bedchamber, the kitchen's and servant's quarters in the ell.

He'd already managed to delve through all the main bedrooms, and the narrow, dimly lit back quarters were small, depressing, and unoccupied.

Or at least, most of them were. He could hear the murmur of voices behind one narrow door, and he was ready to beat a hasty retreat, armed with a ingenuous smile and the excuse that he'd gotten lost, when the door opened carefully behind her.

Actually, _vision_ wasn't quite the word. Sakura Kinomoto looked like a drowned rat.

Her hair drooped around her pale face, her plain dark dress was sodden, though he could see that it clung quite nicely to her breasts. Her eyes were red from weeping, and for the moment she didn't realize that he stood there, watching her.

When she looked up and spied him, her expression was one of such horror that it was comical.

"Oh, God," she cried, and he wasn't sure if it was a curse or a cry for help. "It only needed this!"

"This, I gather, is me?" he replied, moving closer. It was a very narrow hallway, and there was no way she could pass him.

She could only turn around and run.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in tones of deepest loathing.

"Here as in what am I doing outside what I presume is your bedroom, or here as in Wilson Manor?"

"Both." She no longer looked so woebegone, despite the general dampness of her appearance. There was color in her cheeks and snap in her iridescent eyes, and Syaoran realized with distant amusement that he was physically aroused just by her proximity.

"Why don't you answer my question first. Who's in that room? Your lover?" The notion, once entertained, was decidedly unpleasant.

"Don't be insulting. My cousin. And keep your voice down," she added in an angry hiss, ignoring the fact that her own tone had been charmingly strident. "We've had a long journey and she's fallen asleep. I don't want you to wake her up."

"I wouldn't think of it," he said in a soft, low voice like a cat's purr. "But why is she in a servant's room?"

"Clearly because Harriet Wilson considers us to be servants," Sakura said bitterly. She glanced up at him, backing away slightly.

It didn't take much effort to follow her. "Stop looking at me like that," she said in an angry undertone.

"Like what?" he murmured, wondering which part of her body he'd touch first.

He wanted to put his mouth against the damp material that covered her breast. He wanted to put his mouth between her legs.

"Like I was a sweetmeat and you a starving man," she snapped.

"You have it right," he said. "Though I liked your cat-and-mouse analogy even better."

"I suppose I'm not certain whether you want to eat me or kill me," she shot back.

"So innocent," he murmured. "I want to eat you, Miss Kinomoto. I want to put my mouth all over your body."

She backed away from him, startled, some of her annoyance replaced by wariness. He followed her.

The hall was dark and deserted, and it had been too long since he'd touched her.

"My lord..." she began to say in a tight, furious voice.

"Call me Syaoran," he said. "You remember what we did the last time w met?"

"I remember you insulted me gravely," she shot back, edging away.

"Prepare yourself, Sakura," he whispered. "I'm about to insult you again."

He was unprepared for her slap. It was no gentle tap – the force of her blow was impressive, whipping his head back.

She looked absolutely horrified at what she had done, and she stared at her hand as if it were an alien part of her body.

"I beg your pardon," she stammered. "I didn't mean..."

"Don't apologize. You meant to do just that. You'll probably hit me again. After I kiss you."

This time he didn't give her the opportunity to slap him. He simply pulled her against him, pinning her arms with his, and set his mouth against hers.

She didn't struggle, but he couldn't congratulate himself on winning her over. She was still too astonished at herself for hitting him to realize that he was, as usual, taking advantage.

By the time her disordered senses could reassert themselves, he'd already managed to strip them away again simply by pulling her tightly against him and using his mouth.

She was bemused enough to open her mouth to him without protest. She was cold, shivering slightly, and the dampness of her clothing plastered against his made him want to shiver as well.

She didn't kiss him back, but then, she hadn't the other time.

She simply stood in his arms, as if enduring the insult, and he wondered how many other kisses she'd suffered. How many other groppings in a dark hallway.

The notion was disturbing enough that he released her, and she leaned back against the wall, starring up at him.

Her mouth was damp and reddened from his, and he expected to see cool hatred in her eyes.

Ah, but he'd forgotten her eyes. Bewitching, they stared up at him with reluctant longing and confusion, and it was all he could do not to push her up against the wall and pull up her full, damp skirts.

"Come to my room," he said, his voice husky. "You're cold and damp. Let me warm you up."

"No, thank you, my lord." She was jarringly polite despite those vibrant eyes. "If you'll let me pass. I'll see to finding our baggage."

"The servants should be bringing them up."

"I've been informed by the housekeeper that servants don't wait on servants," she said stiffly.

He just looked at her.

"Go back your cousin," he said.

"As you pointed out, I'm damp and cold, and so is my cousin. There's no fire in our room, and I really don't fancy either of us getting pneumonia. We have no money for a doctor. Oh, I beg your pardon – we're not supposed to mention anything as crass as money," she said bitterly.

"You'd best make your escape while I'm still inclined to let you. Go back to your room," he said again, keeping his volatile temper under control. "Or I'll take you to mine."

She was wise enough no to call his bluff. He'd gone through a bewildering torrent of ... he wouldn't call them emotions, but reactions seemed a less-threatening word. Annoyance, irritation, outrage, grudging admiration. All underlaid with the worst case of lust he'd suffered since he'd first lost his virginity with a randy dairy maid.

Maybe this even outdid his passion for the buxom Rose. It took him a moment to realize Sakura had disappeared back into her room, closing the door tightly behind her. He almost changed his mind and went after her, when he remembered the annoying presence of a cousin.

First things first. He went in search of his hostess.

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A/N: I suppose this chapter is long enough ne?? I hope it was to your liking, leave a review please!

**blueducky511 **and** Alpha2Omega: **

ArIgaTou foR reViEwInG aNd foR yOuR sUpPorT!!

slowly but surely, i won't give up! (especially when reading those review you all have sent me)

fight oh, oh!

_"Love isn't about finding the perfect person, It's about seeing an imperfect person perfect"_


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N:** HoLa! I believe it's time for a new update isn't?

**Disclaimer: **you know i'm kind of getting tired of this thingy; we all know CCS belongs to CLAMP all I can do is dream

by the way it's just my version of Anne Stuart's Prince of Swords, don't forget

ReAd & rEviEw! eNjOy

('·.¸('·.¸··¸.·'´)¸.·'´)  
«·´¨·_Chapter 15_ ·´¨·»  
(¸.·'´(¸.·'´ ¨ '·.¸)'·.¸.)

Tomoyo opened her eyes drowsily.

"Did you find our baggage?" she murmured.

"Not yet, sis. Go back to sleep."

The room was dark, and Sakura leaned against the door, grateful for the protection of the shadows.

She had no idea what she looked like, but she had little doubt it would be damnig. Just as she could se through Tomoyo's attempt to subterfuge, Tomoyo could also see to Sakura's troubled heart.

Not that her heart had anything to do with it, she reminded herself fiercely, scrubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand.

Despite the upheaval of the last few years, she was still a relative innocent. She had witnessed things, known things, seen things in the cards that horrified and astounded and yes, even fascinated her, but she hadn't _done_ any of those things, and she never would. Had never wanted to – until he put his hands on her.

In truth, it was a good thing they were segregated from the other guests. While it would surely prevent Tomoyo from forming a suitable attachment, it would also keep Sakura away from Li.

And what if he should happen to spy Tomoyo? He seemed positively enamored of her own dubious attraction. When presented with a diamond of the first water like Tomoyo, there might be no stopping him.

And how could Tomoyo resist such a wicked, beautiful, dangerous gentleman?

Sakura was made of much sterner stuff, and yet even she ended up odiously helpless in her response to him.

Tomoyo would be ruined, and Sakura wasn't about to let that happen. The fast-fading plans for a secure future were the least of her worries.

He would break Tomoyo's gentle heart, and that Sakura would not allow.

Her own heart and spirit were made of sturdier material. She could survive anything. Her cousin was far more vulnerable.

She glanced over at Tomoyo's sleeping form. So delicate, so lovely, and so very sweet. It was that sweetness of nature Sakura envied far more than her celestial beauty. Tomoyo would never have slapped that man's elegant, beautiful face so hard that the outline of her hand was imprinted on his skin.

Tomoyo would have shamed him with her goodness.

There was one rickety chair in the dismal room, and Sakura sank down on it, hearing its ominous creak with true dismay.

It was going to be truly wretched week, and she had no one to blame but herself.

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It was going to be a truly splendid week, Syaoran Li thought as he bestowed his most Machiavellian smile upon shallow hostess.

"Really, Lord Xian Lang?" Harriet fluttered. "The Kinomotos…?"

"I'm so looking forward to seeing them again," he continued smoothly.

"Few people were aware of the fact that my father stood as godparent to the two of them, and my late brother's attachment to Miss Kinomoto hadn't been made public before his untimely death, but I still consider them to be family."

Harriet turned bright pink.

"Your brother was engaged to Sakura Kinomoto?" she said with little shriek of astonishment.

A lie was a lie, and a convenient tool to be used when needed, but for some reason Syaoran was loath to let his brother have any claim on Sakura, fictional or otherwise, even in death.

"No, Miss Tomoyo Daidouji of Kinomoto."

Harriet seemed horrified.

"She could have been no more than -(16)- when your brother died!"

"It was a family arrangement," he said smoothly. He was almost as adept a liar as he was a thief, a talent that provided him with a wry amusement. "We were waiting until she left the schoolroom before we announced it."

"How very sad," Harriet said, placing a sympathetic hand above his knee and kneading slightly. She had thin, grasping fingers, and each time she touched him, her fingertips climbed higher.

He'd resigned himself to the fact that sooner or later he'd have to bed her, a prospect he had viewed with lazy acceptance. However, one look at the bedraggled Sakura Kinomoto and his mild enthusiasm for this hostess had vanished.

"You're extremely fortunate they've agreed to come to you for your party. Miss Sakura is in great demand, you realize. Her rare combination of breeding and esoteric abilities make her much sought after."

"Er…..yes," Harriet muttered.

"I believe she's even been consulted by the royal family."

He wondered if he had gone overboard, but Harriet drank it up like scraggly kitten at a bowl of milk.

She rose abruptly.  
"We're very lucky indeed to have such a distinguished guest," she said breathlessly. "As a matter of fact, I'd best make sure they'll be comfortably settled when they arrive." She disappeared in a flurry of puce skirts, heading toward her unpleasant sister.

Whatever she whispered in her ear was not well received, and Syaoran tried to summon up an ounce of pity for Freddie – sitting obediently by her side.

Freddie cast him a look of glazed despair, and Syaoran simply shrugged, leaning against the fussy, overstuffed chair, a faint smile playing around his mouth.

In fact, he was prepared to enjoy himself immensely.

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It was going to be a hellish week, Eriol thought miserably, looking across the scrubbed kitchen table at his two compatriots. Charles Stevenforth was a wiry little man, neither worse nor better than most of Sir Landers's men. Eriol had tipped a few with him congenial enough company, if a bit too willing to take a bribe. He was busy bragging about the ease and pleasure of their current assignment, guarding a bunch of nobs and enjoying without having to exert the slightest bit of energy. Stevenforth was no more ambitious than most of his type, and if he'd be lacking his thief-taker's share during the next week, at least he'd live better than he'd ever expected to.

It was the third man at the table who gave Eriol pause. He was busy flirting with one of the housemaids, his swarthily handsome face creased in a reassuring smile, his gold front tooth glinting in the firelight. He must have fell Eriol's thoughtful gaze on him, for he turned back to look at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Enjoying yourself, Eriol?" Josiah Clegg demanded, draining his mug of ale. "Or do you prefer life out on the streets, catching criminals?"

"I prefer to be where I'm needed," Eriol said.

"Such a little schoolboy. But no, you're a farm boy, ain't you?" he said.

"Did you like your ride here? Got to cuddle up with two ladies. One of them sure is right pretty, I hear."

"I know my place, Clegg," he said.

"I know my place as well," Clegg said with a wheezy laugh. "And it's underneath Miss Tomoyo's skirts..."

Eriol didn't launch himself across the table and wrap his hands around Clegg's throat, much as he longed to. He didn't allow even the slightest change of expression to mar his cool demeanor. Clegg would use any weakness he could find in his enemies, and to Clegg, all men were enemies, particularly those in competition for the same thief-taker's share.

"I'm with Charlie here," Clegg continued. "I intend to live well while I have the chance. When we get back, it'll be time enough for me catch the Wolf. In the meantime, let him prowl all he wants. His days are counted."

"What makes you think you'll be the one to catch the Wolf, Josiah?" Stevenforth demanded. "With that price on him, you've got some strong competition. I for one intend to be the man to catch him. I spect Hiragizawa does as well."

Josia's smile would have been positively beatific if it weren't for the cunning in his small eyes. "Intend all you want, boys. The Wolf's mine, and nothing and no one is going to stand in my way of a thousand pounds."

"I thought it was five hundred pounds?" Stevenforth murmured. "For a thousand pounds I'd turn in my own father."

"If you happened to know who he was," Josiah replied. "Don't get in my way, Charlie. I'll cut your throat if you try." And he smiled pleasantly, the gold tooth flashing.

Eriol didn't move, his razor-sharp memory taunting him. It had been years earlier, before Charles Stevenforth's time. A Bow Street runner on the trail of notorious Robin Randy had been found in bed with a whore, his throat slashed. The whore was dead as well, and no one had seen anything suspicious. And two days later Clegg had run Robin to ground and collected the moiety on him.

It had been a curious coincidence, one that had troubled Eriol. He'd been drinking with Marc, the wretched runner, the evening before he was killed, and Marc had boasted that he'd set a trap for Robin that no one could possibly escape.

But it had been Clegg who'd sprung the trap. And Marc who'd been buried in a pauper's grave a few days before Robin Randy followed him into the same fate, dead.

"Good with a knife, are you?" Hiragizawa asked casually, reaching for his own mug of beer.

"Fair to middling," Clegg replied with heretofore unobserved modesty. "But I wouldn't hurt my old friend Charlie. I was just joking, is all, we're brothers the three of us. Comrades in arms."

"Brothers," Hiragizawa said, keeping the irony out of his voice.

It was going to be a hellish week.

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"I don't understand how such a dreadful mistake could have been made," Harriet Stebbins, now Harriet Wilson, was saying as she tucked a confiding arm through Sakura's. "I gave strict order to Mrs. Merry that you and your sister were to share the blue and pearl room. It's the most elegant room in the house, usually reserved for visiting dignities, but it's been so long since we've had a chance to have a comfortable coze that I thought you deserved to be pampered. I was in a alt when Petrina told me you'd agree to come to our little party, and I cannot think how such a misunderstanding could have come about. I'm much distressed."

Sakura had spent the past years of her life in circumstances that would have curled Sally's artfully arranged hair. She had no doubt whatsoever how they'd come to be put in such a wretched little room, and Petrina's sour expression as the accompanied them to their new rooms was a far more honest testimonial than Harriet's flutterings. What puzzled Sakura was the fact that Harriet had obviously thought better of her shabby treatment.

"Don't give it a thought," Sakura said sweetly, casting a cursory glance around their new rooms. Four times the size of the little cul-de-sac they'd originally been allotted, the room was ornate to the point of garishness. Marriage hadn't improved Harriet Wilson's taste.

"I'm certain we'll be extremely comfortable here."

Harriet's smile slipped for a moment, and she glanced around the room with anxious pride.

"We do hope you'll be refreshed enough to join us for dinner. My guests are most eager to meet you – I've told them all about my dear childhood friends."

'I'm certain you have' Sakura thought coolly. For some reason their value had increased dramatically, and she had no idea why.

"We have all kinds of entertaining people," Harriet chattered on brainlessly. "Mr. Lindbergh has come, and the Earl of Xian Lang as well, though I suppose you know that. Such a tragic history, poor man, losing his brother like that. H manages to bear up so well."

'His brother died?' Sakura thought slowly.

"But of coarse you know that as well, since your cousin was engaged to the poor man. If only he'd been able to control his fatal addiction to gaming and drink. Fortunately milord Li seems far more temperate."

'_Temperate!_ Surely the last word I would use to describe that rake. But most importantly what's all this Harriet's talking about? It all makes no sense whatsoever.

"Indeed," Sakura murmured helplessly.

"Such a sad case. When Li arrived in London, the people were quite fearful he might harbor a grudge. Not that there was any cause, of course. No one put the glass in Ryan's hand. No one forced him into game away most of the family resources. But Syaoran has proven to be the most charmig of companions, if not precisely marriage material. Not that you would be thinking of such a thing, dear Sakura. You've always had a delightfully pragmatic view of your circumstances."

"Indeed," Sakura said again, inwardly seething.

"So I know you won't mind if I monopolize his lordship, considering your connection with him is so distant."

"Practically nonexistent," Sakura said through gritted teeth.

Sally bestowed a condescending kiss on Sakura's cheek.

"We'll look forward to it," she said, dismissing her hostess with a cool air. Sally practically raced her way out of the room, Petrina beside her, making no effort at graciousness.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Sakura murmured, staring at the closed door.

"I don't care!" Tomoyo replied, tossing herself on the huge bed. "Perhaps it was simply a mistake."

"I wouldn't count on it if I were you. Harriet had every intention of treating us like upper servants, until something, or someone, happened to change her mind. Someone told her a pack of outrageous lies, and it doesn't take much to guess who that person was. The Earl of Xian Lang. And if he's nursing a broken heart due to a family tragedy, I'd be very much astonished."

"Why worry?" Tomoyo said, flinging herself back amid the billowy coverings. "At least we're going to get the week we hoped for. Let that suffice for the time being."

"I suppose I should," Sakura said uneasily.

"You worry too much, Saku. You'll get wrinkles."

"Better me than you."

"For the worry? Or the wrinkles?" Tomoyo shot back.

"Both," Sakura said firmly. "I'm used to worrying, and we're not counting on my face to save the family fortune."

It was only the faintest shadow darkening Tomoyo's beautiful eyes. A moment later it was gone, as if it never existed.

"Have no fear, Saku. If there's a wealthy prospective suitor, I'll have him eating out of my hand in a matter of days. I just need to practice my feminine wiles."

"You don't have any," Sakura said flatly. "And you don't need any. Just be your sweet self, and you'll enchant anyone who sees you."

"There speaks a doting, loving sister," Fleur said wryly.

"Who always knows best."

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Sakura's sanguine mood lasted a remarkably long time. It survived a dinner that was only slightly better than her worst nightmare. She was ensconced between an elderly bachelor who dribbled food on his lavender satin waistcoat and a longmarried squire whose conversation seemed limited to hunting and port.

Tomoyo was sitting dangerously close to the Earl of Xian Lang, but for some reason he seemed impervious to her remarkable beauty. Almost every man in the room seemed enchanted by her loveable cousin, Sakura thought with gratification, except Syaoran Li.

He seemed far more interested in watching _her._

It was covert enough, which was small comfort. She doubted if anyone else at the huge expanse of table would have noticed. But there was no way she could avoid it every time she glanced up she could feel his cool gaze on her.

After dinner wasn't a great improvement — while they were spared the presence of the gentlemen, who lingered over the squire's beloved port, most of the young ladies and hopeful mothers viewed Tomoyo and Sakura with justifiable hostility.

Tomoyo took her leave early, pleading exhaustion, and Jessamine wished she could do the same. But she knew perfectly well why they'd been invited, and if Sally had suddenly chosen to be gracious, that warmth could vanish just as abruptly as it had appeared.

At least Li came nowhere near her. He was in the room once more, watching, but for some reason he had no interest in her card readings. He was probably as skeptical of her abilities as most of the gentlemen, a fact that disturbed her not in the slightest. It was easy enough to read the cards for the women who surrounded her, now friendly with avid curiosity. Their futures were serene; they were all satisfied with the same thing.

In fact, Sakura was feeling as serene as the rest of them when she made her way back toward the bedroom she shared with Tomoyo. There was no servant to light her way, so she held the candelabrum herself, catching up her full skirts with her other hand as she climbed the broad staircase.

She saw the shadow out of the corner of her eye, but not for a moment did she consider her danger. Li had been ensconced in a cozy tête-à-tête with Harriet Wilson, seemingly unaware of her departure.

She smelled the thick odor of garlic and beer, covered imperfectly with mint, and a moment later the candelabrum was slashed from her hand, plunging the stairs into darkness, with a the only dimly light coming from the candles in the hall above.

A hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream, and a thick body shoved her against the marble banister. She let herself go limp, waiting for a chance to fight back. She was more than match for a randy gentleman — her time in Tomoeda had taught her how to keep herself safe — but the voice that whispered hoarsely in her ear stripped away all her furious determination.

"All alone, my dear?" Josia Clegg whispered in her ear.

"Where's the pretty lovely cousin of yours, mmm? Gone off with one of those rich boys? Or has she gone sniffing after Hiragizawa? He's got a soft spot for her, I can see it in his eyes no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Maybe she likes it rough and tumble as well. I can oblige her far better than a man like Hiragizawa."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a fierce whisper when he removed his hand from her mouth. "And take your hands off me!"

"Ah, now, miss, I wouldn't be so fast with my orders if I were you. How do you think your fine, aristocratic friends would like to hear you've been helping the likes of me? Think you'd still be considered fit company, or would they send you down to the kitchen with Hiragizawa and me? That may be where Hiragizawa belongs, if it's not in a sty, but Josiah Clegg is made for better things in this world."

"Take your hands off me," she said again, standing cold and still within his grasp. "I don't give a damn about your threats, and if you ever expect me to read the cards for you again, you'll go away and leave me alone."

"I dunno, miss," he said, his gold tooth flashing in the dim light. "You haven't helped me find the Wolf, and I'm beginning to doubt what you've told me before. It might just be coincidence, and I've no fancy to share my money with a down-on-her-luck lady." He said the word like a foul curse. "Maybe we'll just cal off you little arrangement."

She yanked herself free from him, but she had no illusions that she could have done so if he hadn't been willing to let he go.

"That sounds perfectly agreeable to me, Mr. Clegg."

"And that way I can see whether your cousin has any of your talent."

"No!" She lunged after him as he started up the stairs.

"No, miss? Then why don't we stop all this foolishness? You give me what I want, and I'll leave your cousin alone. But I'm tired of waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"I want the Wolf, miss. And you're the only one who can find him for me. I'm tired of waiting, and making sure no one else gets the jump on me. I wouldn't take it kindly if someone like Hirgaziwa were to nab him first. You know that, don't you, miss?"

She stared at him dully, feeling the trap close around her as surely as it would close around the Wolf. Not that he mattered – whoever he was, he was one felon who deserved Clegg's tender mercies.

"I know that," she said. "Do you want me to come back to London?"

"No need for that, miss. I have my informants, and word has come to me that the Wolf is going to make his appearance at this very house party. You don't suppose a man of my reputation and standing would agree to this sort of work if there wasn't good reason? He's going to try for one last theft, and I'll be waiting for him."

"You and Hiragizawa."

"No, miss. No one's getting in my way. I'll see to that, and I suspect you know me well enough to believe I'll do just that. Then the Wolf arrives by the dark of moon, he'll find he's made fatal mistake."

"What if he's already here?" The moment the words popped out of he mouth she could have kicked herself. She had no idea where such thought came from; she knew only that Clegg was a man far too dangerous to volunteer information to.

"What do you mean? His eyes narrowed. "You've seen something in those bloody cards of yours? You know who he is?"

She shook her head. "I don't know anything," she said with perfect truthfulness. "I jus wondered. It's been rumored he's gentleman, how else could he simply wander through the great houses of London picking up jewels?"

"You'll find out for me, won't you, my sweet?" Clegg cooed in a repulsive voice. "I know you're here to read the cards for these toffs, same as you do for me. You read them for each gentleman and tell me what you find."

"It's not usually the gentlemen who will sit for a reading. They deem it claptrap."

"Ah, but you and I know different, don't we, miss?" Clegg's gold tooth flashed. "You coax them, and if that fails, get your cousin to work on them. Can't imagine anyone saying no to that pretty cousin of yours."

"Keep away from her!"

"Certainly, miss. As long as you give e what I want, I'll leave her strictly alone."

"What about Hiragizawa?"

"Oh, he won't go anywhere near her if I know Eriol Hiragizawa. He has a code of honor, he doe. One of his many flaws."

"One you're not troubled with," Sakura said in an acid voice fain with fear.

"That's one thing I have in common with the Wolf. You find him for me, miss, or you'll be sorry the day you met me."

"I already am."

Clegg's unholy grin was complacent. "Most people are. I don't bother me none. I likes people to be afraid of me. It makes 'em do what I want. I'm getting a mite bit impatient. You meet me and tell me what you've discovered, and maybe your job will be over."

"And what if he isn't already here?"

"Then that just makes things a bit more complicated doesn't it? But I'm counting on you and your witching cards, miss. If he isn't here, you'll figure out when and how he's coming, won't you? For your old friend Clegg?"

Sakura eyed her 'old friend Clegg' with unmitigated hatred. "Where and when do you want me to meet you?" she asked coldly.

"Never you fear, miss. I'll find you." And without another word he vanished into the shadowed hallway, leaving Sakura standing alone, shivering in the sudden draft.

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Sorry for taking an eternity to update. I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, if there is still somebody reading hehe ..,

I do take a lot (yeah I know) in updating (and in pretty much everything I do) and –almost- always running late for everything, but always there.

Just be patient with me please. Even if it seems like I've taken beyond eternity to update or that I'm about to quit, I will never quit!

thanks to all of you reviewed:

**unknown beedee**: gRaciAs, I hope you liked ch15, although I don't think I'll be able to update any time soon the next chapter, sorry.

**blueducky511**: tHanK you for the warning, luckily I've haven't come across such person, I'm not sure about flames but constructive criticism is always good, I must overcome obstacles stand up again every time I fall, and not fall twice with the same pebble. Fight! OH! (hehe I just remembered Yankumi from Gokusen, good manga/anime/drama). Have good time blueducky511!

**Tohruhrtkyo**: tHanK You for the review, upsy daisy hehe I didn't check my grammar…ups, thanks for letting me know, I corrected the mistakes and I hope I didn't miss any…. Glad you like the story

**Black Wolf Chics**: Thank you for reviewing my friend, sorry for taking so long in updating, and now that I think of it I haven't added you to my contact list in my messenger (no enough time, but I'll add you soon enough)

My laptop broke around 6-7 weeks ago, got it fixed in time for my summer vacation, but I still didn't have internet, until now (first thing I'm doing, updating yay!)

I'm glad your enjoying the story. I kind of run on a 'slow' spell or something but like I said, I'll definitely finish.

**Alpha2Omega**: mErCi, I bet this update was 'expected' hehe 'cause once again it took me an eternity to update. Have a bright day!

**power of the stars**: HaPpY bElAteD bIrThIdAy, (very very late or should I rather say very very early? Jeje), thanks for reviewing. Have a wonderful year.

**DeliciouslyGood**: ThAnKs for reviewing and being patient. If you really enjoy those parts, then you'll have to be very patient for my updates, but rest assure you'll read more of them. J

**kawaiineko**: tHaNk yoU for the review, I know exactly how you feel, it happens to me all the time, when I find really good fanfics already with many chapters or even complete. Don't worry there will still be more chapters for you to review lol once I update them, now there's a problem hehe, you'll have to be very patient. Glad you like the story, but remember it's Anne Stuart's book "Prince of Swords" in CCS version, ok? But still it made me happy to read your review, gracias!

**Jennycuenca: **gRaCiAs for reviewing I hope you've enjoyed this chapter.

**Yosh**: aRigAtoU for the review I'm very glad you're enjoying the story.

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_"To Love someone is nothing_

_to be loved by someone is something,_

_but to be loved by the one you love is everything."_

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	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Hello! I'm back, with chapter 16. We all know I take long in updating, and that CCS is own by CLAMP, and that this is just my ccs version of Anne Stuart's book "Prince of Swords". Having said that you can now read the chapter, EnJoy! (p.s. Don't forget to review, please!)

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«·´¨·_Chapter 16_ ·´¨·»  
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The bedroom was empty. Sakura slammed the door behind her, leaning against it, out of breath, panting, her heart pounding from her panicked dash down the hallway. Where could Tomoyo possibly had gotten to? Was there something more behind Clegg's veiled threats than she supposed?

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. He would scarcely have come after her, taunting her, and not mentioned that he had her sister stashed somewhere.

But, then where was she? Surely she knew better than to wander around without proper protection. Unless she was in search of a man who made protection his profession.

Sakura moved away from the door, shaking her head. Tomoyo wouldn't do that no matter how tempted. She knew the family was counting on her to make an advantageous match – she wouldn't throw away their only chance at security on a handsome Bow Street runner.

Perhaps she'd simply gone in search of something improving to read, or to eat. Perhaps she'd gone back to the gathering, feeling suddenly lonely.

Except that Sakura would have run into her if she'd been heading toward any of the public areas of the house.

Sakura sat down in the comfortable chair and leaned back, feeling the pain pound through her head. She was always like this: shaken, exhausted, drowses, full of megrims, after she'd done readings, even the shallow ones she'd offered that night. She needed her sister's soothing hands on her temples, she needed a tisane. She didn't need to worry about Josiah Clegg's threats, or where exactly Tomoyo was at that very moment.

Ah, but when had life been kindly enough to cater to her needs, much less her wants? If she'd learned one thing over the last few years, it was that it was up to her. Everything. She couldn't count on fate or a fairy godmother or a dues en machine to appear and solve her problems.

She needed to go in search of Tomoyo immediately. Even if it meant running into Clegg again, even if it meant the far more dangerous risk of running into Li. She wasn't quite certain why that would be the more frightening of the options. Clegg was evil, Li was neither bad nor good. He simply was.

Maybe it was what they wanted. Clegg wanted money plain and simple, a need Sakura could understand and anticipate.

Li, for some odd reason, seemed to want her. A far more dangerous proposition.

It made no difference – she had to go in search of Tomoyo. She couldn't leave her cousin unprotected.

She would rise from this wickedly comfortable chair, ignore her headache, and find Tomoyo. In just a moment. Just a brief moment while she closed her eyes and tried to banish the pain and exhaustion. Just a brief moment…

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The pounding rain had stopped at last. It was late, and the temperature had dropped sharply. Tomoyo wrapped her shawl around her slight frame more tightly as she stepped onto the damp grass and took a deep breath of the cool night air.

Country air. She filled her lungs with it, tipping her head back to view the stars over head. She seldom saw the stars at London. The wood smoke from a thousand fires filled the on air like a dark curtain, and the tightly packed houses of Tomoeda left little room for the stars. There was no way she could step out into the street after dark to peer upward – it would be to court death and disaster.

But out here, in the kitchen garden beyond the stone mass of Wilson Manor, she could stare out into the sky and listen to the night birds calling, sounds she hadn't heard in years. She could walk among the neat rows of cabbages and carrots, hear the distant mutter of the chickens, and feel at peace.

Sakura would have a fit if she knew she was out here. Tomoyo could only hope she'd make it back to the room before her cousin retired and went back to the room –there was no need for Sakura-chan to worry needlessly.

Indeed, Tomoyo had avoided the formal gardens on purpose, to make certain she wouldn't run into any of the other guests. To do so might be to invite importunities, and that would sour her chances for the marriage Sakura-chan was counting on.

She didn't want to marry any of the men cluttering up Harriet's drawing room in their silks and satins, their snuffboxes and their dripping laces. They were either witless, like Freddie Lindbergh, enamored of themselves, like the majority of the guests, or completely terrifying, like my lord Li.

She wasn't quite sure why he frightened her. He was drawlingly, mockingly polite, even charming. His clothes were elegant not so to the point of foppishness like many others, but if one didn't look too closely one would assume he was a harmless and shallow as the others.

But Tomoyo was used to looking more closely, observant, with an artist's eye. And what she saw in the Earl of Xian Lang's amber wolf like eyes frightened her.

She ought to warn Sakura, though most plausible that she would deny any interest in the enigmatic earl, a denial that would ring false to both of them.

She lifted her skirts, stepping carefully down her neatly planted rows. Tonight, there was a half-moon providing a fitful illumination, and from the house she could hear the vibrant sound of laughter from the servants' hall.

Suddenly she felt cold, lonely, she who usually reveled in her solitude. She'd felt miserably out of place in the drawing room. To be sure, she'd manage to disguise it well enough so that no even Sakura perceive her discomfort. She'd smiled sweetly and made all the requisite replies to the incessantly inane conversations that abounded. She would spend her life making just such idle chatter; feeling like stranger.

She didn't belong in the servants' hall either. If she went there, seeking companionship and warmth, the cheerful mood would vanish, and they would stare at her, silent and uneasy, unwelcoming.

But she knew who was back there among those friendly faces. Eriol Hiragizawa, a thief-taker, someone as foreign to a lady of her position as a Chinese. It didn't matter. She wanted him to smile at her, she wanted his warmth, when her future was doomed to cold politeness. She wanted his strength, his simplicity, his genuine civility, his…

"You shouldn't be out here alone, lass."

She turned in shock, for a moment convinced she'd conjured him up of her own longing. He towered over her, and the wind whipped his dark azure, spruce hair against his forehead. His jacket was buttoned up tight against the chill night air, and the shadows obscured his expression, but she wasn't afraid.

"It's the countryside, Mr. Hiragizawa," she said, taking another deep, appreciative breath. "Not London. There are no evil creatures ready to leap out of the shadows and do evil."

"That's where you're wrong, miss," he said sternly. "There's evil everywhere, country and city alike. Evil comes from people, not places."

She glanced around her.

"Surely there's no evil out on such a beautiful night?"

Eriol glanced back at the house, but it was too dark to read his expression. "Evil's where you least expect it at times, miss. Come back to the house. You shouldn't be out here, and you shouldn't be alone with the likes of me."

"You're not going to tell me you're evil, are you, Mr. Hiragizawa?" she asked in breathless voice, half shocked at herself. She was almost flirting, and Eriol Hiragizawa didn't seem the type to take flirtation lightly. "If you do, I won't believe you."

"No, miss," he said slowly. "I'm not evil. But that doesn't mean I won't hurt you without wanting to. Without meaning to."

"How could you hurt me?" Her question was pitched low, and she could almost feel the longing that spread between them like a fierce, strong length of silk. She didn't know how she recognized it – she'd never felt longing before.

But she did, for this man. And she had the melancholy suspicion that it wasn't a changeable thing with her, or the slightest bit fleeting.

He didn't answer her question.

"Back to the house with you, miss. My job is to keep the guests safe, and you're not allowing me to see to it. I'd take it as a favor if you were to return to your room. Now."

There was a faint note of strain in his usually cool voice, and Tomoyo felt suddenly ashamed. She was a child, imagining things, feelings, where none existed. He was simply doing his job, and she was making it more difficult for him.

"Of course," she said, taking an obedient step back toward the house, only to tread directly on a solid cabbage, twisting her ankle, sending her tumbling toward the ground...

Directly into his arms. He'd moved so quickly, she wouldn't have imagined it possible, and she'd already put out her arms to catch her fall. Instead, she caught him, he caught her, pulling her into his arms against his dark worsted jacket.

He was firm, solid as rock beneath the material, and his arms were strong as they held her. He was warm as well, heat beneath her chilled hands.

For a moment neither of them moved – he simply held her body against him, her breasts pressed against the bright buttons of his coat, her hips against his, and she stared into his eyes breathlessly, waiting, she wasn't sure for what.

She'd never been held by a man, never wanted to be. She wanted this. She wanted him to put his firm lips against hers and kiss her. Kiss her to distraction.

"Lass," he whispered in despair, still holding her. "You'll be the ruin of me," And before his words had a chance to sink in, his mouth covered hers, his head blotting out the light.

His mouth was wet, hard, open over hers, pushing her lips apart as he used his tongue. He tasted of dark ber and white-hot longing, and Tomoyo was too shocked to do more than stand there, pressed tight against his body, as he used his mouth on hers.

In the first moment she wasn't sure if she liked it. This was no shy gentleman courting her. This was a man, a real man, kissing her as if she belonged to him. Within the second moment she banished her doubts and slid her arms around his waist, her hands tight on the thick wool of his jacket, holding on for fear she might tumble into the cabbages if he kept kissing her like that.

Her knees were weak, her heart was pounding, her…her breasts were tight and hot, and she couldn't breath. She didn't care. She wanted to die then and there from the sheer raw pleasure of his mouth on hers, his tongue touching hers. She heard a noise, a faint, hungry noise, and knew with a shock that it came from her.

He moved his mouth from hers, dragging in a deep breath of air, and she felt the scrape of his new beard against the softness of her cheek as he moved his lips against her jaw, down the side of her throat. She was trembling, her hands clinging so tightly to his coat, odd, silly tears of need filling her eyes as she swayed toward him, needing more, needing his strength, needing his mouth and heaven only knew what else…

And just as suddenly as he'd kissed her, her released her. She didn't fall back among the cabbages, though it was only by the grace of God her legs continuer to hold her upright. He'd moved away from her, out of reach, and she could see the way his chest rose and fell in the frosty night as he struggled to control himself.

"Get back to the house, Miss Daidouji," he said in a harsh voice.

"But…"

"You have no business interfering with the help. If you're looking for a quick tumble, I'm certain you'll find one with the gentry. You're a tasty morsel, and I don't deny I'm tempted, but it would be worth my job if anyone were to find I'd bedded one of the guests."

Tomoyo could feel the color rush into her face. She didn't move, absorbing the words like the cruel blows that they were, staring at the stranger.

"Go back to the house, miss," he said again, cool and harsh. "If you're waiting some rough sport, why don't you ask her ladyship who she could suggest? I'm afraid I won't be available."

She didn't say a word. She could feel the icy wind ripping at her hair, stinging her eyes, burning them. Reddening her cheeks. It was the weather, not shame and despair.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Mr. Hiragizawa," she said in a quiet, dignified voice. And then the effect was ruined by a choked sob, and she picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could, away from him.

He watched her go down the rows of cabbages, veering away from the kitchens and heading toward the main section of the house, where she belonged. Hiragizawa stood still in the moonlight, staring after her. He could hear the soft sound of longing she'd made in the back of her throat, he could still feel the warm pillow of her breasts as they pressed against his chest, her nipples hard from the cold. A moment later and he would have had his hand down her bodice, or up under her skirts, and there would have been no stopping him. For soma mad, wild reason she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she wouldn't have stopped him, despite the cold, despite the place and time. He would have taken her maidenhead in a bed of cabbage, and neither of them would have noticed.

"She's a randy bitch, isn't she?" Clegg strolled into the sight, puffing on one of their host's cigarillos. "Why didn't you take her? She was begging for it."

Eriol stared at his enemy out of hooded eyes.

"I like a challenge."

"Hell, we could have shared her. She wouldn't have said anything even if she didn't like it. Sometimes I think you're too picky, m'lad."

"I keep my distance from the quality," Eriol said, controlling his fury with well-practiced effort. "They're not words the trouble they bring."

"The virgins aren't," Clegg agreed thoughtfully. "Stiff as a board usually, and then they cry until you give them something to cry for. Ah, but the high-class whores – they're something else."

"Out of my league," Eriol murmured.

"Well, if you're not interested in the little slut, mebbe I'll try my luck. If she's got a taste for the rough and ready, I'll be more than happy to oblige her. Always fancied her when I saw her around Tomoeda."

Eriol's hands clenched into fists, but he didn't so much as blink. Clegg was wanting a reaction from him, and anything he said would only make things worse. "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. "You might think of waiting till she's back in London. No one gives a damn what happens to a girl in Tomoeda. Around here there are all sorts of gentlemen who might feel called upon to look out for her." He said casually, in an offhand manner. He never made the mistake of underestimation Clegg's intelligence.

Clegg grinned at him, that friendly man-to-man smile that always made Eriol's skin crawl.

"Sure and you've got a point there, me lad. You certain you're not interested in crawling between her legs yourself?"

_I won't kill him_, Eriol swore to himself. _Not yet._

"I told you, she's too much of a lady. Kisses like a cold fish. She's more trouble than she's worth."

"So you keep telling me," Clegg said. "I just wonder why I'm having trouble believing you."

"Probably because you wouldn't believe your own mother if she told you the gospel truth," Eriol drawled lazily. "You believe what you want to, Josiah. I'm going back to my pint."

"And what was it that brought you out here on such a cold night? You sure didn't set up a meeting with the girl during your drive to Kent?"

"With that dragon of a sister watching? Don't be daft, man. I looked outside and saw someone skulking about the cabbages. We're her to find the Cat, remember. I figured I'd better check on it. What brought you out here?"

"Why, you, Eriol. I'm not about to let you or Charles get the drop on me. That moiety's mine, and I don't intend to share."

"Speaking of which, where is Stevenforth?"

"Passed out. He won't be getting in my way. What about you, Eriol? Will you be getting in my way?"

"I'll do my best, Clegg." And neither of them had any doubts as to Eriol's meaning.

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**A/N:** Chapter 16, finis! So, how was it? Please feel to tell me by reviewin! 

And for those who were so kind to review for ch.15; My sinceres gratitud to:

**Alpha2Omega**: ThAnK You! I'm still standing firmly on earth, even though at times my head may be in the clouds. lol. thanks for patiently waiting for my slow updates.

**jennycuenca:** ThAnKS for rEvIewIng! looks like tonight someone else is a little bit lustful, ne? And rust me, Clegg will receive what he deserves (eventually), about who will do it, who knows... you'll just have to be patient for my updates, i hope you do read them and keep reviewing, and most importantly that you'll enjoy them

**Yosh:** ThAnk YOu for reviewing! When I read your review I was: ' Wow!' then i smiled, and then I laughed I just couldn't help myself, i was very happy. That's the very first time someone tells me such a very good prediction. You're a very good observer! I hope you'll still read and see how everything turns out.

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"The guy I will love would rather see me smiling than see me naked"

_"Love is the passion that we feel inside of our hearts that we can't hide. We pretend to hide it, but it burns us more and more until the pain grows and grows and it never ends."_

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	18. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Chapter 17 COMPLETE and UPDATED! Yup, you read right

I hope you don't mind, but I added the rest to the story to this same…ch? To read the rest just scroll down a bit and you see it! EnJOy!!

Must I really do this? (the disclaimer?) I mean this is fanfiction we know none of us owns the series… and I've mentioned in the other chapters: CLAMP owns CCS, the story is from Anne Stuart's book Prince of Swords. So, must I really continue putting at every chapter? Or would you, my fine readers, prefer me skip all these, and start with the chapter right off the bat? You decide

NoW oN wItH tHe StOrY!

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«·´¨·_Chapter 17_ .´¨·»  
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Sakura woke up with a start. She had no idea how long she'd dozed, and she cursed herself as she could only presume that the other guests had eventually found their beds. All but Tomoyo.

The noises were faint as she made her way down the dimly lit hall. A muffled laugh from behind one door, a snore from another. And from still another, an odd, rhythmic creaking accompanied by a strange, gasping sound, as if someone were quite ill. For a moment she paused, concerned, wondering if she should ascertain whether someone was in trouble.

But Tomoyo came first. If someone in that bedroom were having a fit, it would doubtless pass sooner or later. They could always ring for a servant. Besides, Sakura realized belatedly, it was Petrina's bedroom. If she were to intrude, she would scarce be thanked for it.

Most of the candles were doused, but enough were left burning so that Sakura could find hew way down the winding stairs. She wasn't quite certain where she was going – she had no idea where Tomoyo could have run off to.

She would check the obvious places first. The music room, though Tomoyo's talent lay more in appreciating music than creating it, except of course for grand melodious voice. The library, drawing room. If all else failed, she would go to the kitchen, where if by then she can't find her cousin, she still might very well find Eriol Hiragizawa, the one person who could help her.

That is, if he hadn't arranged an assignation with Tomoyo.

No, he wouldn't do such a thing, and neither would Tomoyo.

She trusted her, and she trusted her judgment. Eriol Hiragizawa was a good man, not the sort to debauch innocent young ladies.

The library was empty, as well as the drawing room. The music room had been hard to find, and she almost discarded the notion. She came across it almost by accident –it was tucked into a corner near the stairs, as if no one in the house had much interest in the arts. The glass doors at the far end looked out over a broad expanse of lawn, and Sakura crossed the moonlit room, drawn by the cool silver light.

The door closed behind her with a quiet, definite thunk that echoed icily in Sakura heart. She could feel him move toward her silently, and she forced herself to stay still, to wait until the last minute to break for it. She wouldn't let Clegg put his hands on her again, she wouldn't….

"Found your sister?"

_To be Continued….._

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A/N: I know such a short chapter. where's the rest you ask? Somewhere….not good enough to update…jet…some lack of time…did I mention I'm a procrastinator?

Right now I do not have enough time to write/update the rest of the chapter, so I decided to leave you with a sneak peak , ok?

**FanKnight**: GrAciAs! for reviewing! I'll do my best to update

**Storms-winter**: AriGaTou! for the review . wow such great predictions i'm receiving, I'm happy to know I'm keeping you interested, keep reading (and reviewing!) though and see what happens,

**Star Garden**: tHaNk YOu! for the review I'm very glad you like the story, please keep reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it!

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A/N: Ok, ok I know that was really, really short

So I came back and attached the rest of chapter 17, okay? Enjoy! (p.s. please review)

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«·´¨·_Chapter 17_ continued.´¨·»  
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"Found your sister?" Syaoran murmured in a soft voice.

For a moment Sakura thought she might have preferred Clegg. After all, she had already encountered him once that night, and managed her escape. But the Earl of Xian Lang was a different matter entirely. He had an almost unearthly beauty in the silver moonlight. She'd done her best to avoid him earlier that evening, not even glancing in his direction, but now she had no choice.

His hair was unpowdered, dark brown, his face narrow and pale, and in the shifting shadows he seemed a creature of night, of extremes, of pale and dark, life and death. Extremes that he seemed to view with detached amusement. A card began to form in her mind, but she banished it in sudden fear. She didn't want to see his life, his cards, in her mind or anywhere else.

"How did you know I was looking for my cousin?" She made her voice deliberately mundane. "Have you seen her?"

"What else would draw you out, alone and unprotected, at this hour of the night?" he murmured, venturing closer.

His gracefulness unnerved her. She was used to men being big, rough, clumsy creatures. Li was none of that. He was tall, but with a lean, wiry strength very different from the brute forces she was used to. His very elegance, his mocking airs and graces, were unlike anything she had ever known and his movements were sleek and silent, stealthy, like a prideful wolf.

It wasn't the first time she'd thought of him in terms of a wolf, and she forced herself to look at him with new eyes, considering the unimaginable before discarding the notion. He couldn't possibly be the Wolf. What in heaven's name would a peer of the realm be doing jewel stealing? The notion was patently absurd.

"Why should I worry about being alone and unprotected?" she countered. "This isn't a London street. There's no one in this house who wishes me ill. No one who could do me harm."

As he moved closer he disappeared into the shadows, his voice cool and disembodied. For some reason that seemed almost more intimate than facing him in the moonlight dark, and she turned back toward the silvered landscape, doing her best to ignore him.

"For someone who's been forced to rely on herself for so long, you're remarkably naïve," he said softly. "I suspect you're in more danger here than you are in that depressing little house. First you have your hostess, who resents treating you as anything more than a servant and would most likely put you over the kitchens if she thought she could get away from it. Then there's the unpleasant Petrina who's eaten up with jealousy over you and your cousin. They're not dangerous per se, more of an irritation. But I'm certain you wouldn't be too happy to run a foul of Mr. Clegg?"

Sakura froze, "Mr. Clegg?" she echoed after a moment in a marvelous semblance of confusing. "I have no idea who you're talking about. Who's Mr. Clegg?"

"The Bow Street runner you've been assisting with our card readings. Not a wise choice on your part, by the way. His reputation is beyond unsavory. You would have been far better off working with someone like the thief—taker who accompanied you here. He seems possessed of slightly higher values."

"I don't number Blow Street runners among my acquaintance," she said, keeping her face turned out into the moonlight. "And I assure you, I haven't been reading the cards for anyone outside polite society."

He was close, though still in the shadows.

"Really? Then perhaps you're conducting a liaison with. I can't say much for your taste though."

She turned back to glare at him. He was close enough to touch her now, half in, half out of the shadows. "Don't be ridiculous. You know perfectly well that I'm not!" she snapped, turning away.

"Why should I know that?"

"Because you…er…" Why in God's name had she ever brought the subject up? She stiffened her resolve, refusing to be embarrassed. "Because whether I like it or not, you happen to be in a position to know that I am entirely unused to kisses."

She would feel his breath on the side of her neck, warm, sweet, smelling faintly of mint and brandy

"Dear child," he murmured, "one can conduct a most licentious affair without ever kissing anyone."

She made the mistake of turning again, but this time he was so close, she didn't have the option of turning back. She was effectively trapped between the glass doors and his lean, powerful body. She wondered if she could shove him out of the way. But that would necessitate putting her hands on him, and she had the illogical, melancholy suspicion that if she, were to touch him, she would be far more likely to draw him close.

"I don't believe you," she said, knowing that to continue the discussion was dangerous, a small, secret part of her reveling in that danger. "What's the good of a liaison without kissing?"

She amused him. She could see it clearly in his fascinating eyes, and her annoyance should have put a dent in her obsession. It didn't.

He smiled. "Some people don't like to kiss," he said, letting his auburn eyes shimmer down her slender body.

"I can't imagine it," she said flatly.

"That's because you've only been well kissed," Syaoran said without false modesty. "I'm very good at it when the spirit moves me. And there seems to be something about you that arouses my…er…spirit quite effectively."

She tried to back away from him, but the glass was up against her back, and there was nowhere she could run.

"I have to find my cousin," she said breathlessly.

"Your cousin is perfectly safe. She's back in your room none the worse for her midnight walk in the gardens."

"Is that what she was doing?'

Syaoran smiled. It was a singular wicked smile promising all sorts of dangerous delights. "She was alone on the stairs, her clothing and hair were still in order, and while she'd been crying, she seemed reasonably intact."

"Crying?" Sakura said, galvanized. "I must go to her." And without thinking she moved forward, expecting Li to move out of the way.

He didn't. She came flat up against his solid chest, and his arms came around her, loosely imprisoning, but she had no doubt she'd be hard put to escape. "No, you don't," he said. "She's safe and alone and she'll likely cry herself to sleep more easily without you fussing over her."

He was warm in the cool night air, dangerously so. His eyes glittered with malice and desire, and his mouth was too close.  
"Don't," she said in a small, soft voice that was damnably close to a plea.

"Don't?" he echoed, mocking. "Don't, kind sir! Pray, spare my maidens bluches. Un hand me, sirrah, or I'll — What is it exactly that you would do to stop me, Sakura? Scream for help?"

"If I must," she said, standing very still in the lightly capturing circle of his arms.

"Ah, but you don't really want to." He dropped his voice lower still. "I can see it in your eyes. You're as fascinated by me as I am by you."

"You have an inflated sense of self-worth," she shot back.

"You watch me," he said, pressing closer. "You watch me as I watch you, and you think about when I kissed you. And wonder if I'm going to kiss you again."

She was having trouble controlling her breathing.

"You're absolutely mad," she said.

"And you look at the other men and you wonder whether you'd like their kisses as well," he continued. "You think that perhaps only my kisses will pleas you, and that thought terrifies you."

"Why should it do that?" she whispered.

"Because you know I'm a wicked, conscienceless rake who'll seduce you, take my pleasure of you, and then go on to other things, other women, when I grow bored."

Sakura swallowed.

"That seems about the truth of it. Or do you deny it?"

"I don't deny that I'm not cut out for faithfulness, loyalty, or any of those tedious noble virtues. But I could show you things that you never imagined existed. A riot of sensation no other man could ever show you."

"That's hardly an incentive," she said in a flat voice. "You're promising me a lifetime of disappointment after a few nights of enjoyable debauchery. I think I'd be far better off never knowing what I was missing."

"How paltry of you," he murmured.

"Sorry to disappoint you. You seem to have some image of me as a brave, adventurous soul. I'm actually quite ordinary, with ordinary wants and needs. I want to see my family settled, I want a quiet place in the country where I can live in relative solitude. I'm not the sort for wildness and passion."

"Are you not?" he said, a faint smile playing around his mouth. "I could convince you otherwise."

"You would be doing me a grave disservice," she warned him.

"Do you think that would bear any weight with me?"

If only he'd release her. The longer he held her, the more she felt her stern resolve slipping away. It was all well and good to insist herself uninterested in the tawdry emotions of mankind. She truly thought she might be able to convince him of only she weren't feeling the press of his legs against her full skirts.

She just didn't think she'd be able to convince herself.

"Please," she said in a small, desperate voice that held a distressing quaver. "If you have any kindness or decency left within you, you'll release me."

He appeared to consider the notion for a moment, his head tipped to one side as he surveyed her out of half-closed eyes. And then he shook his head.

"I'm afraid kindness and decency have long since fled, Sakura," he said softly. "All that's left is mindless lust. A most diverting pastime, I assure you. Shall I demonstrate?"

"My lord…" she whispered, quite desperate.

"Syaoran," he corrected her, his mouth hovering above hers like hawk over a wounded sparrow.

"Please," she said.

"Yes I do pleas." And he pulled her into his arms, settling her body against his as his mouth captured hers.

She meant to keep her eye open, to keep her senses in order, but he was too practiced, too clever, and his lips against hers were damp clinging, tasting her own in soft little bites that pulled and drew her, and her eyelids fluttered closed in the shadowy darkness as she opened her mouth for him.

His arms no longer imprisoned her —　she clung to him of her own accord, and his hands were free, free to reach between their bodies and cup her breast. She knew she should protest, pull her mouth away from his in outrage, but she couldn't. He mesmerized her, and she told herself she had no will of her own.

But it wasn't true. She had a very strong will. And her fierce will wanted Syaoran Li's hands on her breast.

His mouth slid along her jawline, hot and seeking.

"Where did you get such a hideous dress?" he murmured. "You should wear silks and lace and diamonds. Or nothing at all."

Her wits seemed to have scattered. "It was my aunt's," she murmured, lifting her jaw to give his mouth access to the sensitive line of her neck above the plain dress.

"Your aunt has execrable taste," he said, and she could feel his hands tugging at the laces impatiently. "I want you out of it." And she could feel the material part as he tugged it down over shoulders, and the coolness of the window behind her made her shiver in sudden fear as sanity struggled to return.

She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted his hands on her breasts. She wanted him to strip her of her ugly clothes and cover her body with his beautiful one, but she knew such wants were wicked and mad. And profoundly dangerous. He would take everything from her, her innocence, her peace of mind… and her gift. And leave her empty and aching.

"Release me," she said in a raw voice.

He'd managed to pull her dress down her arms, exposing the top part of her breasts above the corset, and after a moment of silent perusal his eyes met hers.

"No," he said.

He would take her on the floor of his hostess's little-used music room with the silver-bright moon their witness, and she would revel in it. And she would risk everything, including her precious gift—for a rare pleasure that would break her heart and run a bud crack .

For a moment she felt nothing, just coldness and pressure on her exposed back. And then heat and dampness as Syaoran yanked her away, cursing underneath his breath.

"You don't have to court defenestration to get away from me, he muttered under his breath, in less passionate voice, turning her around so that she faced away from him. A perfect time to run, except that he held her shoulders in painful grip that she couldn't wiggle out of.

"You've scrapped your back."

"You wouldn't let me go," she said, willing herself not to feel faint. She was made of stronger stuff than that, wasn't she? She was brave and bold and strong, wasn't she? To be sure, she'd never been terribly stalwart at the sight of blood, but surely this time she could face it with equanimity. Couldn't she?

He turned her back to face him before she could gather enough strength to make a break for it. "Sit down," he said, irritably, "and I'll find something to bandage it."

She looked at him. He had blood on his hand. Her blood. "Of course," she said faintly. And sank to the floor in a graceless heap.

Syaoran looked down at her for a moment. He should have known she was about to faint—her color, even in the moonlight, had been ashen. With a resigned sigh he scooped her up, careful to avoid getting her blood on the pale blue satin of his coat. She was heavier than he would have expected, but still no particular burden.

He was stronger than most, and managed to lift her limp body into his arms with only reasonable effort.

She was more rounded than he'd realized, a fact that pleased him. He had every intention of discovering just how rounded she was, and he was going to taste those curves, luxuriate in them—once he managed to wake her up and bandage the scrape along her back.

He'd already investigated the house thoroughly. It was a simple enough matter to make his way back to his own rooms, carving his burden, with no one watching. He kicked the door shut silently behind him, then laid her facedown on the wide bed. She didn't move, and he had no doubt she was still unconscious. Once she regained her senses she'd be off again, probably screaming bloody murder.

He stripped off his jacket and waistcoat, tossing them aside, and rolled up the lacy sleeves of his shirt. It was simple enough to finish unfastening the back of her plain dress, and if the scrape wasn't still bleeding, he would have concentrated on the laces of her corset. As it was, he fetched a damp towel and carefully washed her back. The scrape wasn't deep but it needed bandaging. And he found himself wondering whether she'd still be able to lie on her back when he made love to her.

She looked utterly delicious lying on the soft feather bed, and he wanted to mount her, take her, and bite her neck as he did it. She brought out a savagely erotic streak that astonished him, and most likely would terrify her. He needed to rein in that fiery need, or she might leap through another bloody window.

Fortunately a gentleman in his line of work came prepared for all eventualities, and he had bandages and basilicum ointment stashed among his clean linen in case some energetic thief-taker might venture a bit too close. It was a simple enough matter to cleanse the wound and bandage it, and if his hands happened to stray perilously close to her breasts, she wasn't conscious enough to be outraged.

When he finished she looked so peaceful he gave in to temptation, not quite certain why. He couldn't ravish her while she was unconscious, and he suspected the scrape, though not serious, would be uncomfortable enough to distract her from his nefarious designs.

He simply stretched out next to her on the soft bed, lying on his side, facing her. He touched her soft skin loosening her hair so that it slid over his hands. He breathed in her scent, flowers and soap and warm flesh, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and simply hold her. An odd notion, he thought vaguely, resisting the temptation. He contented himself with catching a thick strand of her hair and bringing it to his face, to his mouth. And he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into a sweet erotic dream.

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For a moment she didn't know where she was. Her back sting, her right was chilled, her left side deliciously warm. There was a heavy weight pressing against her in the darkness, weight she welcomed, and for a moment she thought she was back in her family home in the Land of Clow with her wolfhound curled up beside her.

But her dog had died when she was fourteen, and the house had been lost two yars later. And she was lying in a strange bed, next to a warm body that most definitely did not belong to Tomoyo.

Enough moonlight remained to filter into the room, and as her eyes grew accustomed to it, her memory returned. And she knew whose bed she shared.

She tried to turn her head to verify her suspicions, but something had trapped her long, loose hair. Tentatively, grimacing at the stinging sensation in her back, she reached up to see what had entangled her hair, only to discover a hand wrapped around the long strands.

Syaoran slept deeply. She eased her hair free, carefully easing her body from the wickedly soft comfort of the feather bed. Li slept on, oblivious of her escape.

She was dressed only in her chemise, petticoats, and corset.

There was no sign of her aunt's dress in the room, and she dared not take the time to search for it. Nor could she wander out in the hallway in her current dishabille.

A white shirt lay tossed across a chair and Sakura retrieved it, drawing it round her narrow shoulders. The bottom came down near her knees, the frothy lace of the cuffs spilled down over her hands, but at least it managed to cover her. If it also managed to smell deliciously like Li, it was a fitting punishment for having given in to temptation and not running away the moment he'd entered the music room.

She crossed to the bed. She could always reach out and shake him awake and demand to know what he had done with her missing clothes.

He turned then, on to his back, still soundly asleep, and Sakura drew in a strangled breath.

His shirt, a twin to the one he'd purloined and now had wrapped around her, was unfastened and pulled from his satin evening breeches, exposing his chest. And for a brief, mad moment she wanted to crawl back on that bed with him and put her head against the smooth, warm skin of his chest, and have him hold her.

She'd never seen a man's chest before, and she wondered if all of them were quite so… disturbing. So well-formed, so beckoning to the touch. Or, as Syaoran had warned her, whether she responded so madly only to him.

She was afraid of the answer. His long, dark hair was in his face, and she gave in to the temptation, lifting a strand and smoothing it away from his mouth.

And then she backed away silently, afraid if she lingered for a moment longer she might betray herself even more profoundly.

The door opened beneath her touch, the hall outside was dark, and she hesitated a brief moment.

To hear his voice float toward her.

"Aren't you going to kiss me good night, Sakura?"

She slammed the door behind her and ran.

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A/N: finally, mission accomplished! Chapter 17 complete.

I am very grateful to those who reviewed, but I'm in a bit of a hurry and I'm in finals, so I hope you don't mind responding personally to those wonderful reviews.. sorry

**FankKnight**

#$ **Jennycuenca**

#$ **Alpha2Omega**

**Storms-winter**

**Star Garden**

**AngelEmCuti**

#$ **Alpha2Omega**

$** Black Wolf Chic 2**

#$ **jennycuenca**

**harmony**

**butterflyangellover14**

$all time favorites. Gracias

#double review – Arigatou, if I could I'd give a Hershey's kiss

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"If you wake up in a red room with no doors or windows, don't worry, you're just in my heart."

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	19. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Chapter 18 is here! Disfruten (enjoy)

**Disclaimer:** CLAMP own CCS, of course, and this a ccs fanfic interpretation of Anne Stuart's story Prince of Swords.

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Syaoran hadn't planned to go a thieving quite so soon. He had expected to spend a couple of boring days with Harriet Wilson's tedious guests, flirting madly with Sakura Kinomoto whenever he got the chance. Unfortunately his little midnight encounter had put a finish to that plan. If he had to spend another day cooped up in the house, he might do something unwise.

He'd been a fool to let her go. She'd been snuggled up so cozily next to him in that monstrously soft bed, and he'd lain there beside her, watching the rise and fall of the breasts in the moonlight, the pale, soft skin on her cheek. Her eyes were her most noticeable feature, and with them peacefully shut, he would have thought she'd look just like most other women.

She didn't. She looked delicate though he knew she wasn't, and utterly delicious. Some dark, twisted part of him had enjoyed lying there, watching her, wanting, her, letting the need build and grow until he was ready to explode from it. It would have been a simple matter to take her hand and place it on his manhood. A shock to her maidenly senses, no doubt, which made it even more appealing. But he hadn't.

He'd watched her awaken slowly, keeping his own eyelids lowered so she wouldn't know he was acutely aware of everything about her — each indrawn breath, occasionally with a little catch . The pale fullness of her breasts spilling above the corset and chemise, the faint shadow of the nipple against the thin, white cotton. He had stared at that shadow for moments, imagining the taste of her skin through the thin lawn.

But she'd slid from his arms, from his bed, and he made no move to stop her. He wasn't quite certain why. Perhaps it was simply that he wanted her to a dangerous extent, wanted her so much, his hands were trembling with it, wanted her so much that he was afraid, once he took her, he'd never want to let her go. And that was a weakness he could ill afford.

In the light of day he realized how absurd such a notion was. Such romantic flights of fantasy were worthy of a gothic novelist, not a pragmatic, amoral creature like himself. He felt no duty, no attachment, no need for anything in his life apart from the occasional excitement of a bit of felony. Gaming bored him, hunting bored him, flirtations bored him, sex bored him. Except for the notion of sex with Miss Sakura Kinomoto, which occupied a great deal of his less vigilant hours.

He wondered whether she was a witch. It had been more than fifty years since witches were burned in England, but there were still some narrow-minded old-fashioned souls who thought the cards were an instrument of the devil, and whoever read them the devil's handmaiden.

He wasn't one to believe in such claptrap, nor to allow anyone or anything, supernatural or human, that much power of over him.

But whether he liked to admit it or not, Sakura Kinomoto bewitched him, enchanted him, so that he did things around her that were entirely out of character for a conscienceless rogue. He should have seduced her, deflowered her, instead of letting her escape so easily.

And he shouldn't be wanting to run, to push his plan ahead. If he had any sense whatsoever, he'd bide his time, give the runners a chance to settle in before he tried something startling.

Ah, but he'd never been one to play it safe. His brother had been the safe, perfect gentleman who drank and gamed and lived well…and died for it. Syaoran was damned if he'd go the same quick, sorry way.

A few wicked games to distract the vigilant runners and bring excitement to the stultifying house party and then he would set about his avocation in earnest. His blazing career as a thief was drawing to its inevitable conclusion.

The Wolf would go out in a blaze of glory, if he had to die. Otherwise he would carry off one final, shocking robbery, one of such monumental outrageousness that London society would never forget it. And then he would retire, to live out his days in wicked profligacy in some wondrously decadent spot perhaps... the countryside, or back to Xian Lang, who knows he may even end up on a stranded island.

And just to prove how soulless he really was, right before he made his escape he would efficiently, thoroughtly, conscientiously deflower Miss Sakura Kinomoto.

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For the third time in two days one of Lady Harriet's guests had lost a valuable piece of jewelry, only to have it trun up in another guest's astonished possession.

"Someone's having a game with you, Clegg," Charles Stevenforth had the misfortune to point out.

Eriol didn't move. The three runners were alone in the estate office having commandeered the room as a central headquarters. Clegg had taken the seat behind the desk, setting himself in charge even though his length of service and position with the runners was exactly equal to Eriol's. Stevenforth had already realized his mistake and his swarthy face looked oddly, pale in the murky light of a rainy day. As for Eriol, he simply puffed on his pipe, waiting to see what transpired.

He kne it was on of his gifts as a member of Sir Tomas' men. His patience, his willingness to wait things out. He simply took his time and all sorts of interesting things revealed themselves. People had a tendency to say too much; they grew careless with their ill-gotten gains, and when that happened, Eriol was there to set things right.

"You think so, Stevenforth?" Cleff said softly. "There's not many as makes a game of Josiah Clegg and lives to tell the tale."

Stevenforth was beginning to look sick, and Eriol decided to bestir himself. He had a weakness for the downtrodden, and Clegg had been making a concerted effort to keep Stevenforth subservant during the last two days at this god forsaken house party. Eriol felt called upon to interfere.

"They're making cakes out of all of us," he said easily. "I fancy it's just the gentry thinking up a new parlor game. I blame it on the Wolf – he's captured their interest far too well, and they're play-acting robbery instead of theatricals."

"What do you know of the gentry and theatricals?' Clegg sneered. "You're nothing but a north-country farmer at heart. I doubt you were called upon to do the pretty with the quality."

Clegg had long since lost the ability to annoy Eriol, despite his efforts. Eriol simply nodded lazily.

"You're right, Clegg," he said in a measured voice. "But I watch and I listen, and I pick up all sorts of information before I make my move. You can learn a lot that way — it's not a bad habit to get into.

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" Clegg demanded in a deceptively affable growl, and for some reason Eriol was reminded of poor Martin's cut throat.

"Wouldn't think of it," he replied. "Just pointing out that these robberies are hardly serious. If they were, the missing pretties wouldn't turn up a few hours later in someone's best linen."

"Do you think the Wolf's really here?" Stevenforth asked eagerly, breaking in.

"No," said Clegg flatly. "Hiragizawa's right." It looked like it pained hi to admit it. "If it were the Wolf's doing, then the jewels wouldn't be found so easily. Someone's trying to distract us, and Josiah Clegg is not about to be distracted."

"But if it's not the Wolf, and no harm is being done, why should we bother?" Stevenforth demanded.

Eriol concentrated on his pipe. "I simply said the robberies were in the nature of a game Stevenforth. I didn't say the Wolf wasn't here."

Welch was suddenly all eagerness. "You think he is?"

"I'm beginning to think he won't be coming at all," Clegg said with a sniff. "You never can trust informers, particularly when you've got a knife at their throat. They'll say anything to keep from getting cut. What would the Wolf be doing at a house party such as this one? I've hardly seen a jewel worth tempting anyone ore than a launderer's apprentice. He wouldn't be wasting his time."

"Unless he had other reasons for being here," Eriol observed.

Clegg glared at him, "and what would that be?"

Eriol gave him the unruffled smile he knew irritated Clegg beyond measure.

"To tease us. The game with the missing jewels seems to support that theory. Mrs. Wilson loses a set of garnet earrings, and they appear on Mr. Albright's dressing gown pocket. Miss Petrina Stebbins misses a diamond bracelet; and the same is discovered in a sugar pot. These are tricks and I haven't noticed any particular wit in the majority of the guests here."

"You must have a likely candidate for such a harebrained theory," Clegg grumbled.

"Not really. Mr. Albright is too stupid, Lord Xian Lang is too self-centered, our host is too interested in pinching bottoms, and the rest of the gentlemen suffer the same reservation. Lack of wit or lack of interest."

"A servant, then? Most of the guests brought their own manservants with them."

"There's no way a servant could have had access to the other robbery sites in the last two years," Eriol observed. "Or had you forgotten?"

Clegg's face turn in ugly mottle. "Kind of you to remind me," he said with deceptive cheer. "So now you've made an excellent argument against your theory. Make up your mind – is the Wolf here or is he not?"

Eriol shrugged. "I don't know, Clegg. I just figure I'd best keep my eyes open and be prepared for all eventualities."

Clegg looked at him with active dislike above the gold toothed smile.

"You'd be smart to do so."

Steventforth had been a silent witness to this dearly missing half the understones, but he spoke up then.

"That still leaves us with Lady Agustin's missing ruby brooch. It's probably the most valuable piece taken so far – maybe the thief was just toying with us until he took the really good stuff."

Clegg gave hi a look of approval.

"My thought exactly. We find the ruby brooch and we've got our thief."

"That brooch is worth a fraction of the value of what the Wolf usually absconds with," Eriol said. "I don't know why he'd bother."

"Maybe he'd bored," Stevenforth said facetiously.

But something clicked in Eriol's tidy mind, so at odds with his loose-limbed, untidy body.

"An interesting thought, Stevenforth," he said, moving lazily to his feet. "I think I'll go for a walk. You've given much to consider."

"Don't be daft, man!" Clegg's voice was rich with contempt. "Thieves don't get bored. They can't afford to."

"Perhaps this one can," Eriol murmured, heading out of the room. "It's worth considering. I'll close the door so no one will eavesdrop."

"Who would bother…?" Clegg's voice terminated in a muffled obscenity as Eriol shut the door behind him, turning to look down the narrow hallway.

He'd seen the shadow lurking, just out of sight, and he trusted his instincts implicity. There was no sign of her now, but she couldn't have gotten far.

The rain had stopped, though the cool dampness of late autumn lingered in the air.

Eriol Hiragizawa was a man who, for all his pragmatism, relied in his instincts. To the left was an empty stone barn he'd discovered on one of his earlier forays around the estate. Common sense told hi whoever had been eavesdropping was now safely back in the house.

Instinct told hi she was in the barn, hiding from him, uncertain, in trouble. If he had any sense at all, he'd beat a hasty retreat, as far away from temptation as he could manage, and confront her in far more public place.

But then, a young lady like Miss Tomoyo Daidouji shouldn't be seen talking to someone who wasn't much more than a servant. She might even be ashamed to have anyone spy them together.

He set his jaw, irritated with himself and his sudden doubts. Like a green schoolboy, he thought with contempt. If Miss Tomoyo had any reason to talk with hi, he'd discover what it was. If not, he'd turn around and leave her be.

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A/N: Well that's it for chapter 18, hope you enjoyed it. Now if you don't mind I'd like to go to sleep (it's 11:49pm) But first, of course, my thanks to all my reviewers of ch17

Oh I hope you don't mind me starting with reviewers of the completed ch17,

**Machiko-Chan**: Arigatou! (jeje I've done the same some time ago; "oh, man. I reviewed in the wrong chapter, again!" aint it silly?, oh well) it's okay. Thanks for reviewing

**Storms-winter**: GrAcIAs For reviewing (I'm glad my pm worked, after I edited ch17 and updated it completely, I realized nobody would receive an alert of it, so I sent my personal alerts to all of you) 

**mistwolfpack**: ThAnkS for the review, I'm glad you liked ch17

**harmony:** Thank you for reviewing (all I can say is keep reading……..and reviewing….pretty please?)

**Jennycuenca**: Gracias for reviewing me through a pm, (now that mention it, I did start imagining the lead characters of the book as S&S, hence this fanfic jeje)

**Alpha2Omega**: tHanKs for reviewing through a PM; glad you liked the last part of ch17, grinned myself when typing it lol. I like your reviws; you're a good writer, friend, reviewer jeje

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"You must train your intuition – you must trust the small voice inside you which tells you exactly what to say, what to decide."

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	20. Chapter 19

A/N: dGOMENASI

A/N: GOMENASI!! I would like to apologize for taking an eternity to update a single chapter, I hope there is still someone reading this...hope you like it

Desclaimer: This is a fanfic alas based upon CLAMP's anime/manga: Card Captor Sakura, and Anne Stuart's book: Prince of Swords.

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She was sitting in a pile of fresh straw, wearing a pale, pretty dress. The light was dim in the barn, scarcely illuminating her, and she looked still, almost serene, damnably, entirely at home in a barn. Hiragizawa stood in the doorway, watching her, breathing in the sweet smell of the hay, overlaid with the faint trace of flowery scent that could come only from her, and he was assailed with such painful longing that his voice was unnecessarily harsh when he spoke.

"You were spying on us,' he said.

She jerked, and he realized that she hadn't known he was standing there, watching her, as he'd thought.

"I wasn't," she protested in scratchy voice, and he could see the streak of tears on her face.

"Then why were you there?" He stepped inside the old barn, ignoring the sweetly familiar sense of homecoming that washed over him. He'd missed the countryside, he'd missed the farm, more than he'd ever guessed.

"I…I wanted to talk to you," she said, starting to scramble to her feet in the hay. The full, flowery skirts got caught under her knees as she struggled to pull herself up, tugging at the front of her bodice. She had soft, full breasts, made for babies. Made for a man.

He shut that thought out of his brain as well.

"About what, miss?" he said formally.

"About this," she said, opening her small fist and displaying a large, ugly ruby brooch.

He crossed the deserted barn, towering over her. He'd come too close, he knew it, but he couldn't back away from her without making it obvious. He took the jewel from her hand.

"Lady Agustin's missing brooch, I presume," he said, surveying if for a moment before he tucked it into his pocket. "Did you steal it?"

"Of course not!" she said, clearly shocked. "I found it with my watercolors this morning, and I was so horrified, I didn't know what to think. I didn't even tell Sakura."

"Why not? Doesn't your own cousin trust you?" he said coolly, and immediately regretted it.

The look she cast up at him was so full of bewildered pain and hurt that he couldn't bear it.

"Have I done something to give you a disgust of me, sir?" she whispered in a broken voice. "Have I somehow caused you injury? I don't understand your dislike of me…"

Her amethyst eyes swan with tears, and he wasn't a man to be moved by tears. Yet he wanted to lean down and kiss them away.

"I don't dislike you," he said stiffly. "I have no opinion of you one way or another."

If he'd wanted to stop her pain, he'd certainly chosen the wrong words. The tears spilled over with a strangled sob, and she pulled away from him, starting toward the door.

He should have let her go. Better to hurt her now than to start something that would spell disaster for them both. But that chocked sob was more than he could bear, and when she started past him he reached out and caught her, meaning to do no more than apologize a bit more gently, but somehow she was in his arms, her face pressed up against his chest, and he was holding her, pressing her up against him, and he was bending down to kiss her, and she was raising her face to his, and her mouth was damp with her tears, and then damp from his mouth, and he was settling her down into the straw, cradling her against his big body as if to protect her from all the dangers of the world, and she was flowing against him as if she knew that was where she belonged, and duty and class and right and wrong had no place in the stillness of that deserted barn.

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Syaoran stepped away from doorway of the barn, a faint smile on his face. He was pleased with his latest machinations. There was no question in his mind that Brennan was the smartest of the runners who were after him, and there was nothing more distracting than young, forbidden love.

Besides, Sakura's pretty little cousin was so disarmingly smitten with the thief-taker that Xian Lang couldn't let it pass without interfering. He knew perfectly well his efforts would cause more harm than good. It would also confuse matters gloriously, leaving Sakura to tend to her rebellious, brokenhearted cousin, leaving Hiragizawa too frustrated and despairing to put his best efforts into finding the Wolf. He was protecting himself, and he refused to count the cost.

Still, they were rather sweet together, the great, methodical runner and the compact, harmoniously beautiful girl. It was a shame fate couldn't be kind, that there couldn't be a happy ending for such mismatched lovers.

But fate was a sly trickster, he knew that of old. And even if those two would never have their hearts' desire, at least they'd have the memory of a brief, forbidden taste of it to warm them during the long years.

He strolled back toward the main house, humming a bawdy tune under his breath. He passed no one, and he suspected the two of them would be safe and uninterrupted in the barn for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps he should have stayed to see whether the stalwart Hiragizawa gave in to temptation and deflowered the lass.

He grinned sourly. It was the sort of thing he would do himself, and the spice of risking an audience would have only added to his pleasure.

But Eriol Hiragizawa was a different sort, Wein had informed him. A man with a conscience, with morals, with scruples, none of which afflicted Syaoran, praise heaven. He would no more tumble a well-bred virgin in the straw than he would stab his own mother. Tomoyo Daidouji would leave that barn intact, but knowing what she was missing.

And Eriol Hiragizawa would be too eaten up with frustration and nobility to be able to think clearly when the Earl of Xian Lang took his room with a severe case of the stomach gripes, and the Wolf went prowling on the London rooftops.

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"I love your," Tomoyo said quite firmly staring up at him. He'd pulled away from her, as she knew he would. He'd kissed her with fierce abandon, and then sanity had returned. He sat in the straw beside her, arms on his knees, breathing deeply, effusing to look at her, and she knew he would push her away again "I love you," she said again.

He turned to glance down at her.

"Don't say that, lass," he said heavily. "You know there there's no future for us. You don't want a tumble in the straw from a farmer's son, and don't be telling yourself that you do. You're not that kind."

"I love you."

"Stop it. You don't know what love is — you're a milk-fed babe with no knowledge of what the real world is like," he said angrily. "You're untried and innocent and you'll bring us both to disaster with your fancies."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, suddenly angry herself.

"No knowledge of what the real world is like?" she echoed. "I've lived in Tomoeda for the last couple of years. I went from a life of protection and privilege to not much better than life on the streets."

"Don't be foolish! You have no notion what life on the streets of London is like."

"Don't interrupts me," she said, too angry to be cautious, she who never got angry. "I spent sixteen years of my life in safety, in peace, in the country, and then I was taken off to live in a filthy city, surrounded by strangers. Sakura tried to protect me, but she couldn't be with me all the time. I've seen people lying dead in the gutter. I've seen men with their throats cut. Whores servicing their customers with their mouths in an alleyway. Rats and disease and filth and death. I've seen all those things and more. I know how a woman can take a man standing up, I know how a child can pick a pocket so quickly no one would even notice. I know there are men who come in their fancy carriages to the streets of Tomoeda to find children for their twisted desires. I know all those things and more. I wish to God I didn't. So don't tell me I have no knowledge of what life is all about. I know too much about filth and despair and poverty."

"You don't know the ways of society….."

"I do, dammit," she said, horrified at herself for cursing. "I know they'll disapprove of us, try to keep us apart. And I don't care. I love you, Eriol Hiragizawa. I want to be with you."

"Lass," he said in a gentler voice, "how can you think you love me? You barely know me. Go back to your milk-sister. She'll see you safe with your own kind. I'm not the man for you, and when you're older and wiser, you'll be glad of it."

She stared at him for a silent moment. Her mouth still felt damp and tingling from the kisses she wished more of, and she could still feel his hard, strong hands on her waist.

But he would kiss her no more. She rose to her feet, brushing the straw out of her skirts, disdaining his scramble to assist her.

"And when you're older and wiser, Eriol Hiragizawa, you'll regret you weren't brave enough to fight for what you wanted," she said.

Keeping her back straight, she left the barn with all the dignity of a duchess.

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A/N: what can I say?! I don't know! I'm ashame of myself; how could I have left it hanging there as if I had abandoned iT?!

sorry!

THANK YOU A MILLION GAZZILLION TIMES TO ALL OF YOU REVIEWED AnD liKEd ThE sTorY!!

Yosh

Rangiku Matsumoto

Alpha2Omega

Machiko-Chan

Storms-winter

butterflyangellover14

harmony

whitewave16

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"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow."

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	21. Chapter 20

**A/N**: Chapter 20 UPDATED! Yeah!! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** A fanfic based on CLAMP's CCS and Anne Stuart's book: Prince of Swords. ENJOY!

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There was only a light mist falling that evening, but eh wind whipped Sakura's hair free from the demure arrangement, flinging it against her face. If she had any sense at all, she would get out of the rain and the wind, back to the relative quiet of her room at Wilson Manor.

But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night at the raucous house party. Several of the more daring couples had gone off to the races and weren't expected back till late. Still others had closeted with a vile case of the grippe, according to Freddie Lindbergh. And Tomoyo had taken to her bed as well, her eyes huge and red-rimmed in her pale face. Pale, that is, except for the faint rosy rash that blushed her cheeks and chin, a rash that looked like it was caused by a man's whiskers.

Tomoyo couldn't respond to her milk-sister's questions; she simply turned her face into the pillow and wept, a circumstance that distressed Sakura tremendously. Tomoyo was not, by nature, a weeper. She cried over hurt animals and lost children, but the heartfelt depths of her sobs struck and unnamed terror in Sakura's heart.

She could only blame Xian Lang. She had no particular cause to do so, but she had rapidly come to the conclusion that the Earl of Xian Lang was the author of all her most recent misfortunes, and if he hadn't somehow managed to sneak around Sakura's careful surveillance and upset her sweet cousin, then he doubtless had a hand in it.

Tomoyo wasn't telling, and Syaoran Li Earl of Xian Lang had retired to his room with a highly suspicious illness. And Sakura, at loose ends, had every intention of finding out just how sick he actually was.

It had been a simple enough matter to breech the fastness of his room. She had retraced her steps from a few days before, making certain there were no helpful witnesses as she rapped on the door.

There was also no answer to her tentative knock. She knocked louder, then placed her ear against the heavy wood. Not a sound echoed from beyond, and she reached down to open the door, when a loud harrumph made her leap backward with a shriek.

"His lordship is indisposed, miss."

It was his sepulchral-looking servant Marc, staring down at her with such stark disapproval that Sakura almost withered. Almost.

"So I gathered," she said brightly. "I just came by to see how he was. If he needed anything."

"I will convey your concern, miss," he intoned. "Be assured I am more than adequate to the task of looking after my master. Rest and quiet are what he needs now. I doubt you'll see him till midday tomorrow."

"He's quite ill, is he?" Sakura said. "Exactly what are his symptoms? I have some talent with herbs, and I might be able to brew him a tisane that would put him in better heart.'

"He has the bloody flux."

"How very unpleasant," she said faintly.

"Quite."

Neither of them moved, and Sakura wondered which of them was the more stubborn. It didn't take her long to realize she was no match for a superior manservant, and she contented herself with a faint smile.

"Give his lordship my best wishes for his speedy recovery," she said, relinquishing the field of battle.

"Certainly, miss."

But he did no such thing. The moment Sakura turned the corner of the cavernous hallway she stopped, leaning against the wall, listening for the sound of the door opening, listening for Xian Lang's faint voice.

When she dared risk a peek it was only to discover that the manservant was retreating, not even bothering to check on his deathly ill master. Which served to convince Sakura of one thing. Syaoran Li was not in his room.

She doubted she'd have the chance to check. His guard dog wouldn't have retreated far, and if she tried to enter the bedchamber once more, he'd doubtless stop her just as swiftly.

She wouldn't find much more of a welcome in her own room. And there was no peace to be found in the elegant house of her hostess. She didn't need to read the cards to know that something was afoot, something dark and dangerous and infinitely exciting.

And it involved Syaoran Li.

The music room was still deserted in that singularly unmusical household. Outside, the rain was falling, but inside the one branch of candelabra she'd pilfered from the hallways sent streams of flickering light over the small room. The glass door still held a crack, proof that no one had breached the fastness of the place.

Sakura averted her gaze deliberately. The scrape on her back was no more than a faint irritation on her body, but the memory of Xian Lang was a burning brand on her soul. He'd managed to distract and confound her at every turn, threatening everything she held dear.

She cleared off the top of the harpsichord, blew away a faint layer of dust, and set her reticule atop the painted lid. The cards felt warm, living in her hands as she pulled them out, and she was aware of a sudden sweep of misgiving. She knew the cards too well — they seldom kept secrets from her. From the moment she had first set eyes on the disturbingly charming Earl of Xian Lang, she had fought the temptation to do a reading. It was a temptation she could resist no longer. Not when the card called to her with the answers.

She let her mind go completely blank as she let the well-worn paste cards shuffle against one another. The colors and symbols flashed by, and she closed her eyes for a moment, picturing him. The narrow, clever dangerously handsome face. The mouth that could curve in a mocking smile or one of devastating sweetness. The mouth that had touched hers, wooed her…

She laid the cards out in front of her by feel, the warmth of them tingling her fingers. Then she stared in growing apprehension.

The Sword.

The Prince of Swords. Who else would he be? Bold to the pint of foolhardiness, a man who toyed with right and wrong. What could a man like Xian Lang know about wrong?

The turn a card followed another, none a surprise. In truth, she hadn't even needed to lay the cards out, she knew so well the truth that she'd been fighting.

The Twin. (The lovers) were expected,

as The Thunder. (The Tower of Destruction.)

Only The Silent.(The High Priestess) surprised her, and she stared at it, perplexed. She seldom drew The Silent — its power was immutable and frightening. She looked down into the ancient seeress's painted face and saw her own eyes looking back under the hooded black cloak of the figure, looking back at her. And reflected in those eyes was the silhouette of a wolf.

It might have been a sound, or her own highly tuned sense. She looked up at the moment, past the cracked window, and saw a dark figure skirting the outer wall, moving with a feline grace. It was too dark to see more than a shadow, and the creature blended with the night, but she knew who it was. Who it had to be.

She didn't hesitate. The rain had stopped for the moment, the door opened silently beneath her hand. A minute later she was out in the night air, heading after the shadowy, figure.

It was cooler than she'd expected, and damper, and the wind pulled her hair from its tight arrangements, lashing it against her face. For once she could thank fate that she was forced to wear the high-necked, heavy dresses she and Tomoyo had cut down fro their mother's wardrobe. She would have frozen in one of Tomoyo's low-cut, diaphanous gowns.

He was heading for the stables, slipping through the night like a phantom wolf. She followed him, hoping she was equally careful, that her wind-tossed skirt and hair would blend in the darkness.

The stables were deserted at that hour, and in the distance Sakura could hear the sounds of the servants in the hall. They must be eating — the Wolf ahd timed his escape well.

She slipped into the stables after him, blinking as her eyes grew accustomed to the murky light. He seemed to have disappeared, and she stood motionless, peering through shifting shadows, breathing in the scent of hay and horses and leather, comforting scents from her childhood.

It took her a moment to recognize the muffled sound she was hearing, the crisp clapping of hooves that told her that her nemesis had already made his escape, taking his horse and leaving the back way.

There must be madness in the air, Sakura thought almost abstractedly, for her to even entertain the notion that the elegant Earl of Xian Lang was a common thief, that he would sneak out of the house and take off into the night on nefarious business.

And she had every intention of following him.

Madness, perhaps, but this time she was giving in to it. Xian Lang was a threat, the Wolf was a threat, and she had the ability to neutralize both that night. If she went tamely back to bed, her self-disgust would know no bounds.

Besides, what did she have to lose? There would be no place in society for the likes of her, an eccentric who would never marry. No matter how wealthy Tomoyo's future husband, it was unlikely his fortune would extend to making Sakura a welcome member of society.

Most important of all, she was wildly curious.

She rode well, and even though it had been years since she'd been on a horse, she had little doubt she could keep pace with any man. It was sheer luck that Megumi had seen to it that she knew how to saddle and bridle her own mounts, or she would have been helpless in the deserted stables.

As it was, it took precious time to ready one of the sleek, beautiful mares, and by the time she'd managed to scramble onto her back and head out of the stables, it should have been too late to follow him.

She paused, her hands on the reins, feeling the grace and power of the creature beneath her, and closed her eyes, focusing on the cards. The Prince of Swords, playing with right and wrong. She nudged the horse with her knee and let her take the lead.

It should have come as no surprise that they were heading out toward the London road. She kicked the horse into a faster trot, leaning forward to encourage her, whispering in her ear. Her gift with the cards extended to animals as well, and the responsive creature moved faster, her sleek body blending with hers.

She had no sense of time or place. She wore no gloves, and her hands were icy and chilled on the reins. Her hair had tumbled free, a witch's tangle down her back, and the night was cold and damp.

She didn't care. She didn't even care where she was going or what she would find. She had turned her will over to the fates letting them, and the horse, take her where they wished. God only knew what she would find at the end of her destination. Syaoran Li? Or the Wolf? Or both?

It came at her out of the night sky, dark and smothering and immensely powerful, like a blanket of death, knocking her off the horse so that she landed, hard, on the deserted roadway, stunned, breathless, knowing only smothering blackness as she felt the huge weight that pinned her down.

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**A/N:** and there you have it Ch.20

A gazillion thanks to those who reviewed!

**whitewave16**

**AngelEmCuti**

**butterflyangellover14**

**Rikku**

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"Some degree of novelty must be one of the materials in almost

every instrument which works upon the mind;

and curiosity blends itself, more or less, with all our pleasures."

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¸· ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · .· ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . _Edmund Burke_

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